


No Fate But What We Make

by Clea2011



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Terminator Fusion, Angst, Apocalypse, M/M, Reincarnation, Romance, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been 127 years since Arthur vanished. In all that time, Merlin had never given up on him. As a regime of dark magic users tightened their hold on the world, Merlin knew he had just one chance to stop them. But he would need to go back in time…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Terminator Fusion fic, though really it would pass as a modern au/reincarnation and can be read with no knowledge of the film.
> 
> Massive thanks to Deinonychus_1 for the huge beta job. ♥
> 
> DeadPendragon has done some gorgeous artwork for this. Don't forget to go to her [art masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4828970) and leave some love. ♥ 
> 
> Written for the After Camlann Big Bang over at Livejournal - many thanks to the mods there for organising this so well.♥
> 
> (This also fills the Apocalypse square on my Merlin Writers bingo card, the fusion square on my trope bingo card, and runaways on my hc bingo card.)

 

 

## Summer, 2015

It had been fourteen years.

Fourteen years since Merlin had almost caused a traffic accident because there, running along the pavement, heading towards the park was a familiar blonde-headed child. Arthur.

It wasn’t as if Merlin hadn’t known Arthur would be back. Twenty, thirty years at most after Arthur’s death and he was _always_ back in the world. Back with Merlin. Those first few decades, so many centuries ago, when Merlin had thought that he might have to wait for an eternity were a distant memory now. No, the once and future king was reborn over and over. Merlin had the joy and agony of finding and losing him time and again. But always he was secure in the knowledge that Arthur would return to him.

It was the childhood years that were the most difficult. Merlin stayed close, guarding his king as best he could. Teacher, usually, that was an easy role to take up. He disguised himself, different teachers for different years, and none of them looking much like Merlin himself. It saved awkward questions and misunderstandings later. And then, eventually, Arthur would come of age and Merlin could take on his true form and wake his king.

That first sighting in this lifetime, Arthur had been six. He’d been bright and cheeky and full of himself, and when Merlin took up a position at the local school he found Arthur was one of the most difficult to control of all his class. Merlin wasn’t surprised. Arthur had always found it difficult to do what he was told.

Life was, after all, easier for teachers back when children feared the cane. That hadn’t made it right to use it, but Merlin knew he’d felt a lot less exhausted after a day’s teaching back then. It was worth it, though, to stay close, to know that if anyone tried to harm Arthur he would be right there to protect him. He couldn’t do that as easily when Arthur was at home, but Merlin moved to a house nearby and kept watch, just like he always did.

This time, though, it was going to be different. When Arthur came of age, and Merlin woke him, they would be living in a new, enlightened world. No more of the sneaking and hiding that they’d had to endure for centuries. Now they could walk out together in public, hold hands, kiss… They could marry. Merlin had watched the laws change, and known that this time they would be able to bind themselves together, swear their love for all eternity. Eternity that meant so much more to the two of them than it did to most.

Three more days. Just three more, and then Arthur would turn twenty and he would remember everything. He’d know what he was, what Merlin was, remember all their many lifetimes together. And he’d see how the world had changed since the last time he was alive, see that they could hold up their love for all the world to see. It was a good place to be.

Merlin could never remember anticipating Arthur’s awakening so eagerly. Everything was about to become so very perfect. And so, perhaps, he was distracted and not paying as much attention as he should. He didn’t notice his attackers, never even saw them as they struck. And after that it was far too late.

Merlin had been trapped by magic before. This was different, it felt like something new, not of this world. He was walking down the street where he lived, vaguely considering what to buy for tea but mostly wondering how long it would take Arthur to propose. He’d do it himself, only Arthur liked to think he was in charge, and wouldn’t be happy unless he was the one getting down on one knee. It was a pleasing fantasy that Merlin was sure would shortly become a reality. Ever since gay marriage had been allowed, Merlin had been counting down the days.

And then, quite without warning, his world seemed to tip on its side. He was suddenly somewhere else, imprisoned, held by magic so strong even he couldn’t break it. It was like being in the Crystal cave, only worse because there was no guiding hand from his father to help him escape. There was nobody. Merlin had to work it out by himself, all the while worrying about what was happening to Arthur whilst he was trapped there, knowing it couldn’t be anything good.

It took many, many weeks to get free. And by then he’d lost Arthur forever.

 

 

## Spring, 2142

 

“Merlin…”

It wasn’t the voice he wanted to hear, so he shut it out, concentrating on counting. _Forty-two, forty-three…_

“Merlin!”

_Forty-six, forty-seven…_

“We have to go, _now_!” Gwaine growled at him. “They’re coming.”

Let them come. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He wanted to wait until the last possible second and then run for it, try to feel the thrill of fear, of being caught. Something, anything to make him feel alive again.

Gwaine gave a heavy sigh, and pulled him to his feet. “Move it! Why do I get stuck with the immortal bloke who’s got a deathwish? Won’t happen, Merls, not to you anyway. Spare a thought for the rest of us who only get the one chance at it!”

One chance. If only Gwaine knew just how many chances he’d had already. But he didn’t know, he’d never know now because there was no Arthur to make him remember. It was just Merlin, alone, forever and ever.

Surly, he shook himself free of Gwaine’s grip and started to run. Gwaine followed, cursing him with an insult that was meaningless now, it wasn’t as if there was ever the luxury of time to marry. They were all bastards now. And anyway, if you went back far enough, it was exactly what he was.

Behind them, he could hear the baying of the wolves. They weren’t really wolves, but it was what everyone called them. The shape of them, the way they could hunt you down and tear your throat out so fast you’d never even know they were on you. Magical creatures, created for one purpose only, to seek and destroy.

They were doing a fine job, Merlin thought, scrambling over a low wall and into what might have once been a car park. Pity there were no cars there now, they could have used one for their escape. But there weren’t many cars, or any sort of vehicle. Those had been destroyed, transformed into something else.

There was a sound behind them, a howl followed by a scream, abruptly cut off.

“Don’t look back,” Gwaine ordered. He knew what Merlin was, the kind of things Merlin had seen and yet he still acted as if his friend needed protection. It was Gwaine who always needed the protection. Merlin had seen proof of that over and over. Too loyal, too brave, too big-hearted. Too prone to dying young.

“Perhaps it wasn’t one of ours,” Merlin ventured.

“They’re all one of ours,” Gwaine pointed out, panting heavily. “If they’re being killed by the other side, then they’re one of ours.”

And he was right, of course. Arthur would have seen that, would have wanted to protect them all.

“Move it, before it’s us!” Gwaine added, and Merlin realised that he must have hesitated for a moment, thinking of things that would never be. “Before it’s me, anyway.”

Gwaine didn’t get the immortal thing, didn’t understand it was a burden not a gift. And he’d never understand that he had the gift too, just in a different way. Without Arthur there, although Gwaine and the others were still being reborn their memories weren’t awakened and they couldn’t remember their past lives.

It wasn’t far now to one of the entrances to the tunnels. There would be a risk, using it this close to their pursuers. Merlin would have to block it off after they went through or they might be followed. It was simple enough for him to do, but if there were any others in the area that needed that escape route he would be effectively signing their death warrants. But then, they were all as good as dead anyway.

Behind them, the baying was getting closer. He could hear it. He knew that Gwaine could hear it too. They were going through, systematically wiping out all the non-magicals. Even those like Gwaine, tied into a magical destiny though they didn’t know it.

“Come on,” Gwaine growled, though Merlin thought it was probably more to himself than to Merlin. “Come _on_.”

They were at the gate now, and Merlin could feel his own magic humming around him, the safety barrier that he’d worked so hard to put up before he left was still holding but only just. He grabbed Gwaine’s arm and pulled him through, sealing the barrier behind them. Soon enough Nimueh’s people would find a way through it. He was stronger than any of them, but he was just one and there were so many of them. Now, if enough of them banded together he didn’t think he would be able to hold them back.

Gwaine was on his knees, scrabbling at the earth, trying to find the hatch. They were reduced to this, to hiding in caves and tunnels under the ground, hidden away by Merlin’s magic. If it wasn’t for him every non-magical would already have been wiped out. Traitor to his own kind, that was what they called him. There were other names too. He tried to close his ears to them.

Behind them there was a loud crash. One of the wolves had reached Merlin’s barrier and was trying to get through. It threw itself against the invisible shield, and Merlin could see the ripples of energy rolling across the wall, weakening it imperceptibly.

“Hurry up, Gwaine,” he hissed. “They’re stronger than last time.”

“Yeah, I’m just dawdling around for the fun of it,” Gwaine growled back. “Jesus, Merlin, sometimes…”

He found the hatch then, flung it open and climbed inside without looking back. They’d long since gone past pleasantries and heroics; Merlin had to be the last one in so that he could magically seal it shut, hide it. The best thing anyone with him could do was to get in fast and get out of his way. Merlin took one last look at the wolves, three of them now all throwing their magically-created forms against the barrier. It was visibly shaking with the force of their power.

It wasn’t going to be much longer, not unless he could come up with something new. But he was running out of ideas, and all of _their_ ideas were targeted at him and him alone. Merlin didn’t want to think about what they’d do to him when they finally caught him. But perhaps whatever it was would be an end to this meaningless existence, this endless life without Arthur. By now they must have worked out a way to destroy him. Perhaps he should just stand there and let them take him, finish it all on his terms.

But he knew that Arthur would never want him to give up. So he scrambled into the tunnel and closed the hatch behind him, sealing it. They would get through that seal, but not quickly enough.

“Why’d you wait?” Gwaine asked. He had stayed after all, a little way down the tunnel.

“I wanted to see how strong they were,” Merlin told him. He didn’t look at his friend. Gwaine had a way of knowing when he was lying, and he’d probably suspected for a while that Merlin was done with life now.

“And?”

“They’re strong. I’m pulling this down, get back.”

Gwaine knew better than to hang around for a cave-in, even a magically-controlled one. He ran, to get out of Merlin’s way, then called when he thought he was far enough.

Merlin had built many of those tunnels. It was an easy enough thing to destroy them. He felt his way into the rock, pulling at it with his magic, tugging it out of shape and in on itself. There was a creaking and crashing, and suddenly there were rocks everywhere, sealing off that exit permanently. Merlin hadn’t finished, though. Coughing and eyes streaming through the cloud of dust that the rockfall had created, he moved the earth around, creating a solid wall of earth and rock many metres thick. The wolves wouldn’t get through that. There would be easier ways.

He followed Gwaine, trying to ignore the suspicious looks his friend was giving him, and went in search of their group.

 

 

Leon looked old, older than Merlin had ever seen him in countless lifetimes. It wasn’t age, he was probably only in his early thirties, but it was an aging of the soul, having seen too much in this lifetime, shouldering a responsibility that shouldn’t by rights be his.

When did that happen?

“We didn’t find much,” Gwaine told their leader, dropping their packs at Leon’s feet. “And we’ve lost tunnel 32, Merlin had to seal it up.”

Leon looked to Merlin. “They’re getting stronger.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” Merlin admitted.

“It might help if you didn’t keep drifting off,” Gwaine hissed. “Twice out there he went to sleep on me,” he told Leon. “The second time, they were on us. Right on top of us and he was just crouched there, nodding to himself.”

“You don’t have to go out there with me,” Merlin pointed out. He didn’t care any more. Sooner or later, all of them were going to die. Why should he stick around and watch it?

“Too fucking right I don’t!” Gwaine glared at him, then turned on Leon. “Put me with someone else. Freya, or that weird kid… Willie… Gilli… whatever. I’m done with this shit. Him…” he jabbed his finger right in Merlin’s face. “He doesn’t die. It doesn’t matter to him!”

“I think it does,” Leon pointed out gently. “Gwaine, come on, you know Merlin looks after us. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“He was _asleep!_ ” Gwaine yelled. “Asleep! God, you know I do some weird shit, but not out there, not…” He stopped, breathing heavily, and Merlin finally got just how scared Gwaine had been. He’d thought that was it. He’d seen too many of his friends left to die, or torn to pieces. They were the last and the deaths were slower now, lingering. A punishment for surviving. He’d never thought he would ever see Gwaine actually afraid.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Gwaine just shook his head, too angry to speak, and walked off.

“He’s just frustrated,” Leon told him. “Everyone is.” He lowered his voice, bending his head closer. “We can’t win this. It’s just a matter of how long we can stay alive. Any suggestions you’ve got, Merlin, I’d like to hear them. We’re down to less than a hundred people here and I’ve lost contact with most of the other bases now.”

Merlin had an idea. Just one, and the enormity of it was almost too much to consider. He wasn’t ready to share it with Leon yet. He wasn’t even sure that he could do it.

“He can’t pair up with Freya or Gilli,” Leon continued. “We lost both of them this afternoon. No,” he held up his hand to fend off the question already forming on Merlin’s lips. “You don’t want to know. The wolves got Gilli so at least that was quick. Freya was captured and… it wasn’t quick. So, you’re the last magic user on our side. It’s all down to you.”

It always was, but Leon had no way of knowing that any more than Gwaine did.

“We need Arthur.”

“Arthur.” Leon had that way of looking at him, slightly disbelieving. Once upon a time he had been far too polite to tell Merlin he thought he was talking nonsense. That time was long gone. “You’re talking about King Arthur again? It’s a legend, Merlin. A stupid fucking legend. And even if it wasn’t, even if it was real. He was just a man, he wasn’t magic. He wouldn’t be able to fight this! God,” he turned away, slamming his fist against the wall. “You too. You’re losing it just like Gwaine says. Not now, Merlin. We need _you_ not some fantasy. You’re the only thing keeping us alive. I know it’s hard, I know this is hopeless…”

Merlin held a hand up, stopping him. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

But it was a lie. He knew he’d slip again, because none of it really mattered any more. Perhaps Leon realised that, accepted it. He just nodded, and pointed towards what passed as the canteen down there. Just another tunnel, dark and narrow.

“Better get some food before it’s all gone,” Leon advised, effectively dismissing him.

Merlin picked up a bowl, and waited patiently in line with the others. It wouldn’t be much, it never was. It was getting harder and harder to find food. He had dropped one of his packs earlier, when they’d first been spotted, and they hadn’t been able to get it back. Another failure. No wonder Gwaine was so frustrated with him.

Alice smiled at him as she ladled the stew, or whatever it was, into his bowl. He was still their hope, the only strong magic user left who hadn’t defected to the winning side.   He felt as if he was cheating them all now, growing ever more useless. It was as if all the strength in his magic had died years ago. Died with Arthur.

Gwaine looked up as he passed, then looked away. Merlin didn’t even try to sit down next to him, knowing his friend would only get up and walk away. Gwaine would probably sulk for several days, then it would wear off and things would be back to normal. It didn’t really matter anyway. Gwaine and Leon were pale shadows of the friends they should have been to him. They didn’t remember anything about their past lives. It was terribly, horribly lonely.

Merlin settled down in the little alcove where he kept his bedroll, and sat there eating his meagre meal. Nobody came near, and that was fine because Merlin wanted to work and he did that much better in peace.

They were finished here, in this time. There was no longer any hope that the non-magical community could prevail, could live in peace with those whom they had tried so hard to crush over the years. But there was a chance, just one chance left, and it was all down to Merlin. He’d been working on it for a long time, ever since he realised that Arthur wasn’t coming back. Merlin knew that the only way to save Arthur was to go back, back to that day when he lost him, and try to make things right.

Time travel was something nobody had mastered yet. It was dangerous, taboo. If you changed the past you could wreck the present, and then who knew what kind of a mess could be created? Only when things were totally desperate, when there was no other way. A time like now.

Merlin opened up his notes, and went over them again. He thought he had it now, the right spell to send himself back, but there was only one way to test it. If it went wrong, if he abandoned his place here for something that didn’t even work, then everything would be lost. But then, it was all lost anyway.

Arthur would make the difference. Arthur would stop the hatred of magic users, stop them being driven underground and needing to rise up. Arthur would build a peaceful world they could all live in together. Or at least, given how violent the human race could be, more peaceful than this.

There was no point in telling the others what he was doing. Leon and Gwaine had already made it plain what they thought of his devotion to someone they didn’t believe had ever existed. He wasn’t sure there was anyone else left to tell. The other people down there now were mostly nameless strangers, and those who weren’t would only be made more afraid by the knowledge he was going.

Merlin gathered his things into a small pack, and hoisted it onto his shoulder. The motion sparked a memory in him, another time, millennia ago, leaving his home to go in search of Arthur. He hadn’t known back then it was Arthur he was going to find, but it was essentially the same. It was time for Merlin to return to his king.

“Breach!”

One of the guards… Merlin wasn’t sure of his name, he was so new. The man was running down the tunnel, shouting, others coming behind him.

“They’re in!”

“Merlin!” That was Leon shouting, and Merlin could hear the fear in his voice. “Where are you?”

He hated it, hated the fact that he had to go now or risk never having the chance to do so. If they were overrun then Merlin would be taken too, restrained in some way until they found a way to finally destroy him. There would probably never be another opportunity to use his magic.

The lights they’d installed in the tunnels were starting to flicker. It would be easy enough for someone with the right sort of magic to see clearly. Harder for those without it.

“They’ve got the east side too!” someone else shouted. It didn’t matter who it was. Merlin was about to leave them all.

“Merlin!”

Gwaine appeared in front of him, all the anger from earlier gone now that they were up against what was going to be the final battle. He took in the pack, and Merlin knew his guilt at leaving them was showing on his face.

“Where are you going?” Gwaine asked suspiciously. “Not running out on us, are you?”

Behind him there were already too many people running, shouting. In the distance there were screams and cries. Nobody was taking any notice of the two of them.

“Not like you might think,” Merlin assured him. “Gwaine, you’ve got to trust me, there’s only one way to stop this.”

“Arthur.”

For a moment Merlin had the brief glimmer of hope that perhaps Gwaine remembered after all, that some of the old ways were coming back. But the grim expression on Gwaine’s face told him otherwise. He thought it was another sign of Merlin’s insanity.

“I know you don’t believe me but it’s the only way.”

Gwaine glanced back down the tunnel, obviously itching to get back to the fight. He would have come down there wanting Merlin to stand with him, shield him so that the pair of them could kill as many as they could before they went down. One last stand.

“You told me he vanished years ago. You were trapped, couldn’t save him. What’re you going to do, Merlin? Go back in time or something?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit! You really _are_ insane, aren’t you?” Gwaine grabbed him by the shoulders, and gave him a little shake. “That’s not possible, Merlin. You know that’s not possible even for them.”

Even for them. Once, it would have been Merlin that would have been regarded as the most powerful. He still should be. “I’m stronger than them. Better than them. I can do it. Gwaine, it’s not supposed to be like this. _You’re_ not supposed to be like this.”

“Me?”

“You and Leon, you keep coming back but you don’t remember. You don’t remember because there’s no Arthur. You all used to wake up when he did, and remember. Percival, Elyan, Lancelot… they weren’t supposed to die like they did this time, they were supposed to be knights, stand at Arthur’s side. You were a knight. Leon was his First Knight. Please, Gwaine, I know you think this is shit and insane and everything, but I need you to let me go.”

“Back in time, huh?” Gwaine shook his head, but released Merlin anyway. “You know that’s the stupidest thing, and it’ll never work?”

“I have to try.” The screams were getting closer. At the end of the tunnel Merlin could see the wolves. They were inside, ripping at people, ending them. He couldn’t hear Leon’s voice any more. “It’s our only hope.”

Gwaine sighed, then gave him the old familiar grin that he knew so well. And just for a moment Merlin thought they were back on some mad quest that could never work but somehow did because it was them. “This is insane, but let’s do it anyway. Want company?”

“I don’t even know if I can do this for myself yet. If there was more time…”

There wasn’t any more time. One of the wolves was coming, probably sensing his magic. It was lifting its sensor, twisting, turning towards him.

“I’ll cover you,” Gwaine promised. “Make it right, Merlin. Make this worth it.”

It was such a leap of faith on Gwaine’s part. He made his stand a few feet away, with two of the guns they’d developed in an attempt to hold back the wolves. Those weapons had been getting progressively less effective as the wolves were upgraded. And there, beyond the wolves, Merlin could see something worse fighting its way through. Mordred.

Quickly, Merlin summoned his magic and began to cast the spell. The words curled around him, the magic building up. He could see the first of the wolves leaping at Gwaine, saw his friend shoot and the creature fall. Not for long enough though, it was already shaking itself, getting back to its feet, preparing to pounce again.

Merlin repeated the spell. It was going to take a few repetitions to build something so powerful. There was a second wolf now, heading for Gwaine. The power was attracting them. Soon enough they would all be down there. And Mordred… Mordred turned his head and looked straight at Merlin.

Mordred never changed. In all his lifetimes he always had the same pale face, dark hair, cold eyes. He would always look exactly the same as he had that first time, the time he took away Merlin’s king. Seeing him there, just for a moment Merlin stumbled over the words, then caught himself, repeated them again clearly and decisively.

Mordred was coming for him now. There was nothing Merlin could do, if he tried to defend himself or Gwaine it would distract from the spell and make it all pointless. The second wolf was snapping at Gwaine now, the gun barely a deterrent. A third was coming, walking at Mordred’s side like some pet dog. Gwaine glanced back at him, and just for a moment Merlin could see the hopelessness there, before the man was back concentrating on his assailants.

Mordred would be able to sense the magic. He wouldn’t know what it was for but would recognise it as a threat. Merlin saw the moment he realised, saw the magical shields around him strengthen as his nemesis broke into a run. And then, just at the very last moment he saw Gwaine go down, saw the blood, saw the end…

And then there was nothing at all, and Merlin was gone.

 

 

Mordred stepped carefully over the bodies of the fallen fighters. He recognised Gwaine, just as he had Leon a few moments earlier. They meant nothing to him, he had only fought at their sides for the briefest of moments millennia ago. Now they were gone, and soon enough would be wiped from existence just as the others had been. Merlin, though, he was the prize. Yet again he had escaped.

Mordred had never understood why Arthur had suddenly vanished from the world. Whatever had happened to Arthur had also taken out Mordred’s beloved Morgana as well. But nobody had ever stood up and taken responsibility. Neither of them had ever reappeared. Nimueh, who had taken over the fight to return magic to the world, claimed no knowledge.

It was a perpetual mystery, the loss of the once and future king. The loss of Morgana had been an even greater mystery, because she still had her magic and would have been difficult to suppress permanently. He supposed Merlin had something to do with her vanishing, perhaps an attack in revenge for the loss of Arthur. That would make sense. Despite Morgana’s loss though, things had worked out well for the magical community. Without Arthur Merlin had lost heart, and he had never been able to wake the memories of the sleeping knights. They were still drawn to him, still followed him but without truly knowing why.

There were things left behind where Merlin had stood. His clothes, bizarrely, lay in a heap. Mordred hoped the traitor was very cold, wherever he had escaped to. It was no easy matter, finding a change out in the wastelands. He’d certainly stand out. There was a backpack too, crammed full to bursting.

Merlin, Mordred supposed, had not intended leaving any of this behind so the pack might contain something of use. There were notes, an antique tablet computer… he rifled through the contents. There were spare clothes that he just threw aside, but the notes were all in a messy scrawl, modern English interspersed with words so ancient that few would ever recall them. Mordred was one of those few. As he read it he realised that it was part of a spell. A huge, complex spell, something on a par with the most powerful that he’d ever seen.   And as Mordred continued to read it through, examining the notes and trying to make sense of them, he knew what he had to do.

And he realised what had happened to Arthur and Morgana Pendragon, all those years ago.

 

## May, 2015

 

Arthur Pendragon led a charmed existence.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know it, or appreciate it, but he did sort of think that it was his due. After all, his family was richer than most, he was better looking than most, he was captain of the university football team, and he was passing all his classes with ease.

Well, perhaps not quite with ease, but he was passing them, and well on the way to a 2:2 which, whilst not brilliant, would do perfectly well when he took over his father’s company and had everything he needed handed to him on a plate.

People were drawn to him. It wasn’t something he’d planned, or something he coveted, it just seemed to happen. Ever since he started school he seemed to be at the centre of a large group of friends, and that wasn’t something that had changed as he’d grown up. True, the friends now had been around for a number of years, and weren’t as reverential as they had been when they were all younger. But they were his friends, his gang, and he wouldn’t be without them.

Leon was the closest, they’d grown up together and sworn to always be best friends. He was easy, loyal company. A bit too sensible sometimes, but if Arthur was honest with himself he knew he probably needed reigning in occasionally, so it worked. They’d even gone to the same university, been roommates. Uni was where the others had found them, Lance and Gwen, Gwaine and Percival, Elyan via his sister Gwen. Almost two years later and they were still all together, still friends. Even his horrible harpy of a sister, Morgana, seemed to want to be a part of it and these days he seemed to be spending far longer than he ever had before in her company. Everything had a downside.

It was almost time for the summer break. Arthur had plans for the summer, and they involved a beach and his father’s private holiday residence, endless sun and surf. Weeks and weeks and weeks of it. He’d felt a vague twinge of guilt when he’d invited the others along and Lance had pointed out that he needed the summer months to earn enough money to live on in his final year. He’d been staying in Arthur’s flat for most of the year rent free but there was food and tuition fees and books and _God, Arthur, have you any idea how expensive it is just trying to keep pace with you?_

So there was going to be no Lance, and therefore no Gwen, and the others were only coming for a week at a time, later in the summer. Worst of all, they all seemed to have forgotten it was going to be his birthday in a few days, and that they would be better off coming with him immediately. Sun and surf and celebrating wasn’t that much fun on your own.

Still, it was better than the alternative. His father had suggested he help out at a summer camp for a few weeks instead of spending the entire break lazing away on a beach. Character building, he’d called it. Boring, Arthur had called it. Morgana had called him something both rude and, in Arthur’s opinion, uncalled for. But then, that was Morgana. She and Gwen, who had become far too friendly for Arthur’s liking given that Gwen was dating one of his best friends, had volunteered to spend most of the summer helping out at the local animal shelter. Clearing up dog poo and cuddling cats was not something that particularly appealed to Arthur, and he suspected that despite her professed aspirations to become a vet his sister would last not more than a week, largely due to the former. Their father, though, was delighted. But then Arthur had noticed that their father was usually delighted with anything Morgana did, and equally disdainful of anything that Arthur did.

He could have fought it, tried to impress his father in some way. But just going along with expectations and swanning off for a summer-long beach holiday was far more pleasurable. After all, no matter what Arthur did it was never good enough, so why bother trying?

“So, end of year drinks tomorrow?” Arthur enquired of the room. Pretty much the entire student body of the university, those who hadn’t already gone home anyway, would be dressing up and hitting the town. Maybe he could celebrate his birthday a couple of days early. Give them all a gentle reminder in case they had forgotten.

Morgana wouldn’t have forgotten. Annoying as he liked to think she was, she was a girl and they were better at that sort of thing. She’d probably mention it to Gwen, who would tell Lance, who… would look upon it as a chance to make use of the empty apartment while the rest of them were out. No, there wasn’t much hope of a celebration unless he actually asked them. “We could celebrate surviving the year?”

Leon was poring over some text book in the corner, already trying to get ahead for the autumn term, and just muttered something. He’d come along, Arthur knew. Probably spend the whole evening worrying that he was killing off his brain cells.

Lance shook his head. He was busy packing up early because he was off home to start his summer job. He’d managed to persuade Elyan to give him a lift first thing Saturday morning and wanted to spend as much time with his girlfriend before they were separated for months. “Not me, I’ll be saying goodbye to Gwen.”

Gwaine, stretched out on the sofa and apparently half-asleep, which was normal status for Gwaine, made a puking noise.

“You’re so whipped,” Percival muttered.

“He wishes,” Gwaine retorted, and they both laughed. Arthur didn’t even need to ask if they were in or not, Gwaine would turn up for anything if there was alcohol involved, and Percival always tagged along after Gwaine. At least those two were sticking around for the Summer Ball on Saturday night. Lance wouldn’t even be there for that.

“If you’re all out tomorrow, I can have the flat, right?” Lance asked, just as Arthur predicted. Elyan threw one of the cushions at him.

“That’s my _sister_ , mate! Don’t want to know!”

Lance still just stood there looking hopeful. Having to listen to Lance and his girlfriend having enthusiastic sex in the next room was not something that Arthur was going to miss.

“Football,” Percival said. Even for Percival, that was fairly random. Arthur looked at him, confused.

“What?”

“We should all have a last game of football before the holidays,” he clarified. Gwaine and Elyan nodded agreement.

Leon closed his book with a sigh. They all looked towards Arthur for confirmation. It was always like that, always had been.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We should.”

Arthur knew he was going to miss quite a few things about university life. One of the things he’d miss most was having instantly available friends for going out, whether it was drinking, sport or just a movie. Their three-a-side football, for example, good practice for Bath uni’s six-a-side league. They were the reigning champions for a reason. The fact that there were eight football pitches on campus easily available helped as well. You were supposed to sign up for them but people rarely bothered. There had been some sort of youth Olympics up there a few years before, and an elite athletes training centre. Students were enjoying the benefits. Arthur particularly loved the Olympic sized swimming pool.

Sitting on a beach somewhere remote by himself didn’t hold the same appeal, not really. Arthur would happily have spent the entire summer with his friends, making use of those facilities. But he wasn’t going to risk having his father force him to ‘make good use of his time’ or something equally dull. No, going away was a very good idea. Even if it did mean he was going to be by himself for much of it. And he wasn’t alone yet, anyway.

It was a cool and sunny evening at the very end of May. Summer was just around the corner, the days were long and studying was behind them for a little while at least. There were several empty pitches, so they made their way onto one and set up the game. Leon commandeered one of the goals, they used two of their bags to create another one for Percival about halfway down the pitch, and they were off.

Arthur sometimes thought he’d rather have a full length pitch to play on, but with three-a-side that never quite seemed to work out. Too much space. Still, he tackled Lance, passed to Elyan, and watched his friend easily avoid Gwaine and put a goal past Percival before the big man even noticed what was happening.

“Foul!” Gwaine yelled.

“Scoring a goal against your team isn’t a foul,” Elyan pointed out. “It’s called winning.”

“Early days yet, mate,” Gwaine pointed out. “Plenty of time. Lucky shot.”

Elyan proceeded to fire off three more lucky shots within the next fifteen minutes. Gwaine was slowly getting more and more pissed off with him, Arthur could tell. It was mostly because Elyan had started doing a little victory dance after each goal and then high-fiving Arthur and Leon. Even Lance and Percival, on the losing side, were laughing when he did it.

“Can we go to the bar now?” Gwaine whined as a fifth ball sailed past Percival. “I’m bored.”

Strangely Gwaine never seemed that bored when his team were winning, Arthur thought. Still, Lance and Percival really weren’t trying and it was a bit pointless.

“Okay,” he began. “Five more minutes? And Lance, maybe you could try to play?”

“He’s in lurrrrrve,” Gwaine drawled. “He wants to get Gwen all to himself and…”

“My _sister!_ ” Elyan yelled. “I don’t want to hear it!”

Gwaine laughed, then paused, looking at something… some _one_ at the side of the pitch. He gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Very nice…”

And that was when Arthur noticed that there was a man standing over their spare kit and bags, rifling through them. A completely naked man. And Arthur could see why Gwaine might want to whistle, the man was lean and fit. He was also pulling out Arthur’s joggers and scrambling to get into them.

That was the end of the football game.

 

 

There was one huge problem with time travel.

Merlin hadn’t expected it, hadn’t even considered it as he’d created the spell. He had assumed he would arrive with everything he was carrying, particularly his clothes. Yes, he would definitely have liked to arrive with his clothes.   Or at least to have arrived somewhere quiet and secluded with a conveniently heavy-laden washing line nearby. Or, best of all, in his own home from this time. That would have been particularly good. Private, and plenty of clothes. Clothes were good.

Fate, however, was cruel. Instead, he was on the edge of a playing field, stark naked and freezing, his body still shuddering from the shock of what he’d just done. Time travel had hurt. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. For a moment, all he could do was lie there waiting for the shaking to subside. Worse, there were a group of men playing football not far away, and no real shelter anywhere in sight. All it would take would be for one of them to turn round and see him…

There were huge oak trees all around the edge of the field, and for a moment he considered staggering over to the shelter of those and trying to hide. But it wouldn’t solve the problem that he was naked and nowhere near the ideal of a convenient washing line that he might have been able to steal from. Then he noticed that there were a couple of sports bags lying to the side of the pitch where the men were playing. One had what looked like jogging bottoms hanging out of it. That would at least cover him, and he’d worry about being caught stealing if it happened. It was better than being caught walking around naked.

He wasn’t even sure what had gone wrong. Nothing had come with him from the future. Even the ring, Arthur’s ring that he’d held onto for centuries, even that was gone.

There was no time to worry about it or spare the young men playing football a second glance. Merlin raced over to the bags and started rifling through them. Behind him he could hear someone whistle, then the inevitable shouting. Yes, he was stealing but they would just have to live with it. Unless any of them had magic, it was their future he was trying to safeguard here. The joggers were too big but he pulled the strings tight and hoped they would hold. He had never been fat, but years of war had meant scarcity of food, and he was all skin and bone now.

“Oi!” One of them grabbed his arm and spun him round. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Merlin turned, clinging onto his stolen spoils in case they were ripped away from him. And stared.

It was Arthur, Arthur how he had been the last time Merlin saw him. Well, perhaps not exactly the same. This one was a lot angrier.

“Well?”

Merlin gazed at him, at the old familiar beloved face. Arthur was alive, that was the vital, important thing. Merlin’s journey hadn’t been in vain, and now all he had to do was make sure Arthur stayed that way, that he didn’t vanish again. The bad temper didn’t surprise him. It had been like this sometimes, before Arthur regained his memories and recalled Merlin. After all Arthur Pendragon, in every single one of his lifetimes, was a prat.

“Arthur…”

“Do I know you?” There was that slight, questioning tilt of the head, the half-smile that really wasn’t friendly at all. “Because, you know, I don’t recognise you, and even if I did it wouldn’t be an excuse for going through my things, stealing them.”

Merlin reached out, cupping Arthur’s face in his hands. It often only took that much, not even any magic required, and he would remember. There wasn’t time for anything more subtle. They were probably a bit early, but it wouldn’t matter. Merlin let his magic flow…

Or at least he tried to. There was nothing. Arthur glared at him, shoving him in the chest to push him away.

“Get off me! What are you, some kind of nutter? High on something?”

“He was naked,” he heard one of the others say. Leon… alive and well. But then Leon hadn’t vanished in this time like Arthur had. He was destined to survive right up until the time Merlin had just come from. “Probably drink or drugs or both.”

Merlin reached out again, but Arthur jumped back out of his way, holding his hands up defensively.

“Woah!” That was Gwaine. Gwaine, who Merlin had watched die only moments before. He was there, younger, back to his old self, the bitterness and hurt from the past century not having touched him yet. “He’s really got it bad for you, mate!”

“Arthur, just give me a moment. I can explain,” Merlin pleaded. “You have to trust me.”

“Trust a man I’ve never met before who turns up naked on a football pitch and steals my clothes?” Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Seriously? Look,” he waved a hand towards the jogging pants. “You can keep those, do us all a favour, no-one wants to see that. But if you don’t get out of here right now I’m calling the police.”

 

“Are you even a student here?” Leon asked. “I’ve never seen you before. Gwaine, you know him?”

“Just because he’s on something, doesn’t mean I’m going to know him,” Gwaine grumbled. “I’m a serious student, you know?”

They were all there, all Arthur’s knights, standing around him and they didn’t even know it. Whatever had happened here, once Merlin had been captured, they hadn’t been able to prevent it. Most of them had ended up dead, but not permanently so. They’d come back. They’d all come back except Arthur. This was the very last time he walked the earth. So it didn’t really matter that he was angry and didn’t understand. Merlin had no choice but to make him remember before it was too late.

“Arthur,” he took a step towards his king, his love, and tried not to let the fact that the other man backed away put him off. “Just let me do this. You’ll see, it’ll be okay…”

He reached out a third time, and this time Arthur didn’t flinch. Instead he grabbed Merlin’s arm and twisted it round behind his back, marching him towards the edge of the field. He was strong, and no amount of struggling was managing to get Merlin free. It hurt, too. He’d forgotten Arthur was strong in his own right. More frighteningly, his magic didn’t seem to be working.

“What part of get out of here didn’t you understand? Do you _want_ me to call the police? Are you one of those weirdos who likes to spend a night in the cells every now and then?” Without waiting for a response, Arthur gave him a push that sent him sprawling. “You stay away from me, you hear? Try any other funny stuff, and I _will_ call the cops.”

Merlin scrambled to his feet. “No, you don’t understand, you’re in danger.”

“Really? From what? Being flashed by some lunatic? Being fondled to death, perhaps? Being blinded by the glare from your pasty-white skin?”

“There’s…” Merlin paused. He had absolutely no idea what had happened to Arthur, just that he’d vanished in this time, this place, without a trace. “What day is it?”

“ _What?_ You are on drugs, aren’t you?”

“No, what’s the date?

“Thursday,” Arthur said slowly. “May 28th.”

That was it. He’d come back to pretty much the exact date when he was attacked. If he returned to his own house now there might be nobody there. Perhaps it was too late to warn his earlier self. Or was it? Had it been the Thursday or the Friday that everything had gone wrong? It had all been such a blur, he couldn’t remember. Perhaps there was a chance. He couldn’t risk leaving Arthur, not now, not even for a few moments.

“It could happen any time,” he told him. “Arthur, you need to get to a safe place.”

And there it was again, the look that told Merlin just how insane Arthur thought he was.

“Why were you naked?”

It was a sensible question, and of course it came from Percival because he always kept quiet and thought more deeply about things than anyone expected him to. None of the others had even thought to ask.

 _Because I’ve cast a spell to travel a couple of hundred years into the past and apparently it wasn’t strong enough to let me take all my clothes with me_ didn’t seem like an answer they’d accept. But maybe there was a way out of this.

“Practical joke. I’m…” he looked around. “I’m new… the guys I’m working with in… uh… sports development… they thought this was funny. Dumped me just over there and ran off. Didn’t you see?” Yeah, that was the story he should have started with. Not trying to grab Arthur’s face. He still couldn’t feel his magic, and that was really worrying him. “They… uh… they said I had to go up to some random guys and pretend to be spaced… look, can I keep these? Maybe a shirt too? It’s freezing. I’ll return them.”

Most of them laughed. Gwaine even threw a t-shirt at him, which he pulled on gratefully. They all headed back to their game, all except Arthur. Arthur was still watching him curiously.

“Random?”

Merlin nodded.  

“So how did you know my name?”

“I heard your friends talking to you,” Merlin attempted.

“Right.” Arthur regarded him for a moment longer.

“You could give me a lift home and then I could change and give these straight back?” Merlin offered.

Arthur gave a little laugh. “I don’t think so. Enjoy the walk.” And then he was gone, heading back to his friends who seemed to be gathering up their things, the game over.

They would be heading for a car, most likely. And then Merlin would lose them. There was no choice – he would have to go home, get his own car, money, clothes, weapons… anything he could think of that might be of use. And then he was going to stalk Arthur like the creeper Arthur obviously already thought he was. His magic was going to come back, Merlin had to believe that. He’d always managed to get it back before, and this was probably just a temporary hitch from the effort of the time travel spell. But it needed to come back quickly.

Sometime very soon, whatever had happened to Arthur was going to happen again. But this time Merlin was determined to find out what it was, and to stop it. This time, Arthur would survive.

 

Nimueh had warned him that it was going to hurt.

Mordred lay there for a few minutes, winded and sore, trying to get his breath back. It had been a huge spell, but as he hadn’t been the one to cast it he wasn’t as exhausted as he might have been. Tentatively he reached out with his magic, checking it was still there. Just a little light, a glowing orb briefly conjured and just as quickly extinguished. Working, then, just as Nimueh had predicted.

He wondered how she was faring, having expended so much energy sending him back. Merlin’s notes had revealed a flawed spell, one that would weaken the caster at best, kill them at worst. Perhaps Merlin was already gone, destroyed by his own actions.

There was little time to waste speculating. Mordred had two tasks, both of them urgent. Firstly he was to disable the Merlin living in the current time. Secondly he was to find Arthur and destroy him, stop him ever coming back.

“This is what changed things,” Nimueh had told him once they had deciphered the spell. “Merlin’s own work is what gave us the chance to take out Arthur. I’d always wondered who’d destroyed him. I don’t think it was Morgana, I think it was you.”

Mordred winced at the thought of Morgana. She would be there somewhere as well, still alive in this time. If she wasn’t responsible for Arthur vanishing (and he still wasn’t convinced of that) then she must have been killed by Merlin in an act of revenge. Mordred would have a chance to save her as well.

The twenty-first century was loud and cold. It felt alien to Mordred, even though he had lived through part of it once before.

There was no magic here. Abandoned and forgotten, it had started to die out. That was Merlin’s fault. So much was Merlin’s fault. They had been so close to capturing him, to putting an end to the worst rogue magic user who ever lived. And yet he had escaped once more, just like he always did. Mordred never understood why. Could Merlin not see that Arthur was gone, that he was never coming back?

Everything Mordred and Nimueh had carefully packed had survived the trip through time, and Mordred himself recovered quickly. Unlike Merlin, who would have arrived wherever he had sent himself naked and shivering. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t arrested, which would slow him down even more. Carefully, Mordred got to his feet and started on the first part of his mission.

Merlin, in this time, was very easy to find, his own magic lighting him up like a beacon. There was nothing else like him, not with all the magic fading from the world. Mordred was able to home straight in on him, strike and take him down. Easy. Merlin wasn’t paying attention, just walking down the street with a stupid smile on his face, completely unprepared for the attack when it came.

There was a brief, satisfying moment when Mordred saw the shock and surprise on his nemesis’s face, realising there was someone else there with magic. Merlin hadn’t even noticed him, he was so far off his game.

It had been so easy to strike, to trap him. The fool had probably forgotten what it was like to deal with powerful magic. And Nimueh had given Mordred all the powerful magic she’d promised. It felt good to be so strong. He felt as if he were invincible.

Of the Merlin from his own time there was no sign. When Merlin did arrive he would be on his guard and not such an easy target as his present-day self, assuming that he had aimed for the correct time period. Merlin’s spell had been full of errors, he could have ended up anywhere.

Mordred couldn’t sense him, not yet. It added weight to the idea that Merlin wasn’t there. Or, perhaps, as Nimueh had supposed, he might even have been destroyed by the spell, or hopelessly weakened. Whatever, he was unlikely to be a great threat to Mordred.

With Merlin down, all Mordred needed to do was locate Arthur. Wherever Merlin was, the chances were that Arthur wouldn’t be too far away. He had a long history of turning up in the West Country, close to his original resting place. All Mordred had to do was search.

And in a time where everything was held on computer, searching was simplicity itself.

 

 

Merlin’s house wasn’t quite how he remembered it.

Things never were when you went back to them after a time away, and nearly 130 years was quite a break. There were things that he had forgotten about, old furniture, books, souvenirs of an easier life long ago. It didn’t feel like home, it felt like intruding. Breaking in through the back door because he didn’t have a key and his magic wasn’t back really felt like an intrusion.

Merlin, the one from this time, wasn’t there. He’d hoped that he would be, that this wasn’t the day, that there would be time to warn himself. Perhaps he was already trapped? Or perhaps he was just out somewhere. There had been lots of trips, he remembered, just before he’d been imprisoned and Arthur had vanished. Things to do, preparing for the return of his king once more. Totally unnecessary things, vain things to prepare for a proposal he never got to make, unimportant really when he should have been standing guard over the vulnerable Arthur. He’d grown complacent and Arthur had paid the price. Merlin had paid it too.

He wrote himself a note, just in case, and left it on the kitchen table. Perhaps it would leave him open to the same attack, but as long as his magic wasn’t working he had to try everything.

There were clothes, and although they were loose on him from years of living on the edge, they essentially fitted. Everything practical, t-shirt, hoodie, jacket, jeans, trainers. Money, car keys… He paused, looking at the keys in his hand. The car shouldn’t have been there, not if he wasn’t nearby, but it was sitting on the driveway. He could remember going for a walk on that fateful day…

The back door hadn’t been broken into when he had eventually returned. That was something, a good sign. It meant that time around there hadn’t been a Merlin from the future to help. This time he’d probably come back and find the house stripped bare by thieves, but it was the least of his worries.

There were a couple of crystals that he used sometimes to enhance his magic. He’d taken them from the cave, centuries before. Tentatively he tried them, sealing around the door. It felt flimsy and weak, and would probably fade in no time. But it was a tiny bit of magic. It meant it wasn’t completely lost to him and he wasn’t going to be completely defenceless against whatever was coming.

Finally, he took a gun. It had been Arthur’s in his last life, a relic from his time as a soldier that he could never quite bring himself to give up. Civilian ownership was now outlawed in the UK but Merlin had kept it anyway. It would be something unexpected, it might save them, give them crucial moments.

If only he knew what he was up against. There had never been any real clue as to what had happened to Arthur. Not just Arthur, Morgana had disappeared too and Merlin had always believed that she was responsible for what had happened. She’d been quiet, calmer down the centuries, but that was likely to be a front. Wherever she’d taken Arthur, Merlin had not been able to follow and neither of the Pendragon siblings had ever returned. Their father had sunk his entire fortune in trying to find them, to no avail.

Morgana, when he’d last seen her, had been living with Uther and visiting her brother at university on a regular basis. She’d noticed Merlin once, watching Arthur, and had looked at him with such intensity that he had been certain she’d recognised him. But that was impossible, as nobody regained their memories of the past until the once and future king did so. Even Morgana couldn’t be immune from that.

Merlin didn’t waste too much time pondering it. He flung a few more things into a pack, hoisted it on his shoulder, and hurried out to the car. He needed to get back to Arthur. This time, he wasn’t going to leave his side.

 

Arthur’s evening had not gone to plan.

He mostly blamed the naked nutter who had ruined the football game. But he also blamed Gwaine for getting drunk and getting them thrown out of the pub, Lance for being boring and heading off to Gwen’s as soon as he could, and Leon for… well, he wasn’t sure what for but he was sure their evening would have gone on a lot longer and been a lot more fun if Leon hadn’t decided it was time to drive them all home.

And then, worst of all, there was his awful harpy of a sister sitting there in his living room making herself at home. He should never have given her a key. Equally awful was the smitten look Leon got when he saw she was there. It was faintly disgusting. Evidently he had never listened when Arthur had (many times) told him what a pain it was having her as a sister.

“Thanks for the lift,” he growled at his friend. “Didn’t you have studying to do?”

Leon hovered hopefully. “Do you need a lift too?” he asked Morgana. It was almost pleading. Sickening.

“I drove over. But thank you, Leon, that’s very kind.”

It was like a different person. The evil, wicked witch was doing a fine impression of a human being. She was actually managing to sound regretful. Arthur knew that as soon as Leon was out of the room she would revert to type. He’d had a sneaking suspicion for the past few months that his sister might actually return his friend’s feelings. Really, he needed to find Leon a sane and reasonable girlfriend before something horrible happened.

Leon stood there for a moment longer, obviously trying to think of another excuse to stay. It was beyond him though, and he eventually just gave Morgana a slightly bashful smile, said goodnight and headed for his room.

Arthur really didn’t want to think about what Leon might be doing in there.

“What do you want?” Arthur asked as soon as the door had closed. “Aside from tormenting my roommate?”

“Always so grumpy, Arthur. Can’t I spend a little bit of time with my baby brother before his birthday? Look, I’ve brought presents.” She handed over a large gift bag with far too many ribbons and things on it.

“It’s three days away.”

“No, Arthur, you say thank you. _Thank you_ is nice and polite, _it’s three days away_ is rude and Arthur-like.”

And right there was one of the reasons she was so annoying. Although she _had_ brought presents. And they were probably quite good ones too. He peered in the bag.

“Thank you.”

“Better. Thought I’d bring it round now sinceyou’ve decided to jet off on holiday early. Dad won’t be happy, you know? Birthdays being family time and all.”

Family time as far as their father was concerned meant Arthur and Morgana sitting nicely at the dinner table and talking about any successes they had achieved, whilst Uther took criticised Arthur and praised Morgana, in between taking business calls and checking his laptop. There would be a considerable sum of money deposited in Arthur’s bank account, and Arthur certainly wasn’t complaining about that. But family time? No, not really. Not for Arthur, anyway.

“You could always come with me.”

Arthur wasn’t sure where that came from. Morgana looked a little surprised, then just saddened.

“Maybe later. Call me, after your birthday. I could come up the following week if you wanted me to. I’d like that, Arthur. I really would.” She tapped the gift bag. “Don’t open those, not until your birthday. Bad luck, you know?”

She was, he thought, being a bit weird even for her. Perhaps it was an evening for it. He wondered if it was a full moon or something.

“Okay. Did you want a drink?” He was hoping she would go, but he couldn’t exactly throw her out straight after she’d brought round presents. And sometimes, when she was in a good mood, she wasn’t such bad company.

“Coffee. I’m driving.”

It didn’t usually stop her.

Morgana, as it turned out, had no intention of going. She’d put the TV on when he returned with the coffee and had found a comedy for them to watch.

“We used to sit and watch stuff like this all the time,” she told him. “When we were kids. We got along sometimes, I seem to remember.”

“Before you grew into a harpy.”

“And you grew into a prat.”

Arthur huffed goodnaturedly, and settled down beside her to watch the film. There was definitely something up but she showed no signs of wanting to share whatever it was. And when she finally left, she hugged him hard.

“I’ll always be your sister, Arthur. Try not to forget that.”

Obviously she was either sickening for something or she had been abducted by aliens who had left a much nicer double in her place. Either way, combined with the naked weirdo on the football pitch earlier it was turning into the strangest evening Arthur had spent in quite a while.

It didn’t matter. Tomorrow was the last day of the semester, he could lie in all morning and then go out with his friends and get completely plastered. It was months before they had to worry about the exam results. Tomorrow was going to be all about getting drunk.

He walked Morgana down to her car, and watched as she drove away. The body swap didn’t seem to have improved her erratic driving any. Arthur turned to head back into the building, then paused. Just for a moment he thought he saw someone standing on the corner, watching him. But when he looked again there was nobody there. It was the oddest feeling, and he gave a brief, involuntary shiver.

The strange man on the football pitched had unnerved him a little. It wasn’t the first time some crazy person had approached him. His father was disgustingly rich, after all, and that made both Arthur and Morgana something of a target. Once, when he was a small child, there had been a kidnapping attempt. Arthur didn’t remember it, but he knew it had unnerved his father and that if any mention of that afternoon’s events reached Uther’s ears then Arthur wouldn’t be going anywhere at all for the summer, at least not without a bodyguard.

It was a very good reason not to say anything. Arthur peered down the gloomy street once again, trying to see if there had really been anyone there. It was probably a trick of the light, he thought. One of the street lamps was out, and that was probably what had made him think there was somebody there.

He went back inside.

On the corner, the lone figure stepped out of the shadows once more, waiting.

 

Friday was a grey and miserable disappointment after the sunshine of the previous day. Admittedly, Arthur slept in pretty much the entire morning and missed the worst of the rain, but still he had hoped for better. It was the last day before they all went their separate ways for the summer. Some of his friends he probably wouldn’t see again until September. There wasn’t even going to be a proper mass goodbye like previous years, because not everyone was staying for the Summer Ball on the Saturday night. Last year had been great, Arthur had hired a limo and they’d all paraded round the city in their finery, posing in front of landmarks and getting glares from the locals. Nobody missed the Summer Ball if they could help it, it was one of the best social events of the year.

Instead it was going to be drinks in the city centre with those who could make it, and just Gwaine, Percival, Leon and himself staying on. Gwen had decided she didn’t want to go without her boyfriend or brother, and Morgana…

Well, Morgana wasn’t actually at university any more, but that didn’t normally stop her attending anything that was going, especially if it was an opportunity to really dress up. She was still being a bit strange though... stranger than usual. There had been her odd behaviour the previous evening, and then dinner with their father the week before had also been strained, peculiar.

Morgana hadn’t been the only strange thing the previous evening. Arthur kept finding his thoughts drifting back to the naked man. It wasn’t all that unusual for Arthur’s thoughts to stray to naked men, but this one was different. It wasn’t even that he had obviously been slightly insane, again Arthur had encountered those. He knew Gwaine, after all, in far too many ways. No, there had been something in his tone, his expression when he’d spoken to Arthur. He really believed what he was saying, really seemed to think that Arthur was in danger. And then there had been that feeling later, that he was being watched.

It was stupid, of course. Arthur went over to the window and looked out. Nothing much to see, the quiet side road outside, cars parked all along each side because there was never enough places for all the cars. There was the corner where he’d thought he’d seen someone standing, but there was nobody there now.

He was being foolish and he knew it. Everything out there was familiar, most of the cars were residents and ones he’d seen before and the rest were just going to be visitors or shoppers who were using the place like a park and ride, parking and heading for the bus stop around the corner. Like that blue car opposite, with the driver still sitting behind the wheel, waiting. Probably not wanting to go out in the drizzle until they absolutely had to, waiting till the bus was due.

And then the driver looked up, directly at him as if he could see through the blinds and into the flat, right at Arthur. It was the man from last night.

Arthur gasped and stepped back from the window. This had always been a danger, his father was rich and both he and Morgana had always had that small risk of being kidnapped and held for ransom or something. Their father also wasn’t always fair or honest in his business dealings and there were always those who would be out for revenge. It had just never come up before as an issue.

Perhaps he had been the one out there last night, watching when Morgana left. Arthur had little doubt of that now. It was just one man, but all it would take was one bullet, one knife to the throat. He grabbed his phone and dialled his sister’s number, shocked at just how relieved he felt when she picked up almost at once.

“Arthur?”

And then he really wasn’t sure what to say. She would laugh at him, probably. But still, she was his sister, and if he didn’t say anything and something happened to her he would never forgive himself.

“Morgs… this is going to sound… well, don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I’m listening.”

Right there, that was strange from Morgana. He expected her to immediately hang up, or accuse him of being drunk, anything but actually take him seriously. “I think I’m being stalked. There was this man yesterday when we were having a kickabout…”

“I know. Leon told me.”

That was typical of Leon. Any excuse to ring his sister or make any kind of contact at all. “Yeah, well I think he was outside the flat last night when you left, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Nobody followed you home?”

There was a pause. “No, I don’t think so. What… what did he look like, this man?”

“Dark hair, tall, huge ears… I can show you because he’s bloody well sitting outside my flat right now! Wait, I’ll send a picture.”

The man was still sitting there, still looking up at the flat. It meant Arthur could zoom in and take a reasonably clear picture. He thought he’d probably need to send it to the police as well. It was shame, because if Arthur were honest the man was exactly his type, and if only he wasn’t a damned stalker and insane too Arthur would have been sniffing around interestedly. Might even have got him up to the flat by now. He looked at the picture, at the almost haunted look on the man’s face. He didn’t even want to think about how he’d been found, about how in a four-storey Georgian town house much the same as any other in the city, the man knew to look at the second floor windows of his particular building.

“That’s him,” he told Morgana. “So if I go missing, or turn up dead somewhere, that’s who you put down as the main suspect.” He thought he heard her breathe something that sounded like a name, but he couldn’t make out what it was. “Morgana? Do you know him?”

That would be right, of course. One of Morgana’s friends. They were all a bit spaced out. He was probably on drugs.

“He’s… someone I used to know. I didn’t think he’d show up for a few more days. You don’t need to worry about him, Arthur. He’d never hurt you. Look, I have to go, I’ll catch up with you next week, if you like.”

“Morgana!”

But she rang off before Arthur could ask anything else.

“Was that your sister?” Leon asked brightly, emerging from his room looking as rumpled and half-asleep as he always did.

“No, it’s one of the other Morganas I know!” Arthur snapped. He looked out of the window again. The man was still there, still looking.

“What did she want?”

Arthur had the urge to say something cruel, such as _not you_ , because really he didn’t want to deal with his sister’s cryptic comments and Leon’s crush right now. But they were friends, and Leon had already been knocked back once by Morgana, he didn’t need reminding of it. “I called her. Look,” he gestured towards the window. “Blue car across the road. That’s the guy from yesterday, right?”

Leon wasn’t discreet. He went over, pulled back the blinds and opened up the window to get a proper look. He even leaned out.

The man immediately started up the car and drove off.

“Couldn’t see,” Leon admitted. “He left too fast. He’s gone now, though.”

Arthur showed him the photo he’d taken for Morgana. “That was him. Morgana seemed to know him.”

“Oh.”

Arthur could see Leon’s face fall just a little at that revelation. His friend really did have it bad. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because it was his _sister_ for god’s sake! “She says it’s some old friend or something. Looks shifty to me.”

Leon nodded. But then if he thought it was an old boyfriend of Morgana’s he was bound to agree to anything negative. “Perhaps we should call the police?”

Arthur was still tempted. But there was something in the man’s face, the way he’d looked up at the window. Deep down, Arthur just didn’t really feel threatened by him.

“Not yet. Where’s Lance? It’s his turn to cook breakfast.”

“Still at Gwen’s, probably.”

Arthur looked towards the kitchen, still piled with the washing up from the previous evening. Lance could deal with that when he got in if he wasn’t going to bother joining them. “Wetherspoons? My treat?”

Leon took no persuading at all.

 

 

The magic still wasn’t there.

After being spotted outside the flat Merlin had tried casting a glamour on himself, so that he could walk around after Arthur unnoticed. Even with the crystals it wasn’t a very strong one, and he knew that if Arthur looked at him directly he would probably see right through it. He covered his head with the hood, but then that turned out to be a mistake. It was a time when wearing a hoodie up still marked you as a possible thug, there were signs in shop windows still saying that hoods had to be down before coming in.

At least Arthur was with Leon. That was something. The previous night, had he known it was Morgana there in the flat with Arthur, there was nothing that would have stopped Merlin bursting in there. Next time she came near, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Leon was trustworthy, honest and brave and had never been anything else. And whatever it was that had happened to Arthur, it hadn’t been when Leon was with him. Leon, Gwaine, Lance, Elyan, Gwen… all of them had been as puzzled and confused afterwards as he was. Arthur had just vanished. They hadn’t remembered who and what they were, but they had mourned the loss of their friend. So if Leon was there, walking with Arthur, then Arthur was safe. Merlin could relax just a little.

Still, he went into the local Wetherspoons behind them and sat down at a nearby table. The King of Wessex, it proclaimed outside. Not quite accurate, but near enough. If only they knew they really were hosting ancient royalty.

Merlin used the crystals again to eavesdrop on their conversation, just in case there was some clue to what Arthur might be intending doing, where he was going, what might have happened to him. But there was nothing, the two men were intent only on filling their stomachs. It was mid-afternoon by then but that didn’t stop Arthur and Leon ordering a huge mixed grill then devouring it at a ridiculous speed.

Merlin’s own stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet that day. He was used to going hungry, and watching the two men treat all that food as if it were nothing was galling. Leon was particularly difficult to watch. Merlin had watched him struggle to feed his people, going hungry himself because there was some child who was crying.

Now he was sitting there with Arthur, both of them stuffed full of food and apparently quite pleased with the fact. Leon burped loudly, and they both laughed.

Arthur got up and headed for the bar. Checking his glamour was still in place, Merlin followed, and took the opportunity to order food for himself. Every time Arthur left Leon’s side, Merlin followed him.

Wetherspoons, apparently, was a favourite. The food and drink were cheap, there was plenty of room and plenty of sport on the TV. One of the large screens was displaying the news, a running subtitle bar underneath the video feed.

“Look at that!” Leon said suddenly, pointing up at the news. “Who’d do that?”

Merlin looked up at the screen, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach he read the headline. ‘Breaking news: Update on the Medieval Fayre actor murder.   25 year old Calum Peake was found dead in a car park in Glastonbury last night. Calum had been playing King Arthur at a nearby fete and was found still wearing full costume. Police are still investigating the incident but eye witnesses report that he was found with a sword through his chest. The area has been cordoned off…’

Arthur shrugged. “Roleplay that went too far? I’ve seen some of the swords they use in those re-enactments. Pretty sharp.”

Arthur hadn’t been found anywhere, ever. But then, it was a strange coincidence, a fake King Arthur dying just at this time. Perhaps it wasn’t Morgana, perhaps it was someone else who didn’t know exactly who they were looking for? The dark magic movement had risen up just after this time, there was no way of telling how small it had started, and exactly when its members had started to take action. Or perhaps Morgana had seen this, stepped in and helped?

“That nutter last night…” Leon began, but Arthur waved him quiet.

“Don’t even think it. Morgana said she knew him and he’s harmless and I know she’s an evil witch and everything but it’s not as if she’s going to actually risk my life, is it?”

It actually hurt to hear the words. Merlin felt like rushing over there and shaking him and telling him not to believe a single word she said. And then he considered it. _Morgana_ of all people had vouched for him by the sound of it. And how could she possibly have known to do that? How did she know who he was, unless she was already aware, already a danger? He would have to watch out for her even more, if she knew he was here. Perhaps she would think it was his present-day self, escaped from his prison already.

“Is she coming over?” Leon asked casually.

“No.” Merlin didn’t miss the faintly exasperated expression on Arthur’s face as he said it.

Merlin had forgotten about Leon and Morgana. Leon had been devastated when both Arthur and Morgana vanished. His best friend and the woman he was in love with. He’d spent the rest of that lifetime trying to find out what had happened to them, teaming up with Merlin. They’d never been able to fathom it out.

Leon always loved Morgana. Not that first time, certainly, not unless it was very well-hidden. But later, when she started turning up with Arthur in subsequent lifetimes, there was Leon too. At least, until Arthur awoke each lifetime and Leon’s memories awoke with him. Leon had always rejected her at that point, just as the others did. Even that one time when he’d already married her. That had been messy, and after that Leon just seemed to be following an unrequited love because Morgana never so much as dated him in any lifetime afterwards, no matter how he tried.

Merlin wondered how he had never seen it before. Morgana had obviously retained at least a small amount of memory from her previous lives. No wonder she still hated them all. And there was probably a small place in hell reserved for Leon as far as she was concerned. Her death had saved him from that. Of course it was going to be Morgana. He’d never really had much doubt. But it was odd, that Arthur actor getting killed the same day. Morgana couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

Arthur was looking at something on his phone. That was typical of the age, everyone more interested in the virtual than the reality. “I’ve texted Gwaine. He’s got Percival and Elyan over there now and they’re going to try to drag Lance out.”

“Good luck with that,” Leon muttered.

“It’s like he’s never heard of bros before hoes.”

“You know what Morgana said she’d do to you if she ever heard you say that again…”

Merlin leaned closer, suddenly concerned. But Arthur just laughed.

“Don’t tell her then! It’s not going to score you any points.”

And so it went on. Gwaine, Elyan and Percival appeared half an hour or so later, and a large jug of something green and disgusting-looking appeared on the table, along with more food for the new arrivals. There was a lot of complaining about the drink, and then Leon headed off to fetch more beer.

At the rate he was drinking Arthur was going to be plastered before the evening was over, Merlin thought. It might make things difficult if Merlin needed to get him out of there in a hurry. He gripped one of the crystals and tried to cast a spell. It was weak, but enough. Arthur was about to find his alcohol tolerance vastly improved.

Really, Merlin had forgotten how trite their conversations were. All of them were talking about football, food, beer, who would win in a fight between… those weren’t even real people they were talking about, Merlin realised. More football. Women, or men, depending on the preference. Time to get up and go to another pub…

Merlin followed, trying to keep enough of a distance that he wasn’t noticed, but close enough to see if there was any sort of attack on Arthur. The sun had come out, not enough to be overly warm, but enough that they headed for a pub with a back garden and outside seats. It made it difficult to hide, to blend in. Merlin redid his glamour, and hoped it would be enough. Luckily it was a Friday evening and the outside area was filling up.

There was no sign of Lance. Gwaine had climbed up onto one of the tables and started serenading everyone in the vicinity. Percival was looking up at him admiringly. Leon looked as if he would like to leave. Funny, in a way, Merlin thought, that it was those two who survived. Opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet they’d watched each other’s backs for years.

The barman came out and asked them to either sit down or leave. Gwaine of course wouldn’t sit down, and after a short argument that ended as soon as one of the bouncers was called over they noisily and reluctantly drank up and left. Merlin could hear Leon complaining about it all the way up the street. He’d forgotten that, forgotten the way the two of them used to bicker. It was always all good-natured, whatever Leon might have claimed.

Another pub with a garden. There weren’t many but Gwaine liked them because it meant he could smoke. Leon disliked them for the same reason. Merlin just sat back in the darkest corner he could find, nursing something non-alcoholic, and waiting.

Hours were passing and the light was fading as Elyan called it a night, Merlin overheard him saying something about an early start in the morning and needing to start packing. There was a round of somewhat drunken farewells and Merlin had to look away, knowing this would have been the last time Elyan saw Arthur. Not this time, Merlin would make sure of that.

Merlin stayed close, following Arthur to the bar when it was his round, wrapping the glamour tighter around himself as he did so. He even had to follow Arthur to the loo, trying so hard not to look, wishing his magic was strong again so that he could wake his lover and they could take advantage of the empty stalls and then get far, far away to somewhere safe.

But Arthur was talking to Leon, not even noticing the other man standing there. Merlin was glad of that, it was harder to maintain the illusion in such close proximity, and more than once during the evening he had noticed Arthur glance at him curiously, then away.

As they were waiting at the bar for the second time, he saw Arthur look up at the TV screen again. All these pubs seemed to have screens of varying sizes. It was as if the social element of going to the pub was only a small part of it, there was the constant need for entertainment, news and sport as well. Merlin remembered that period. Most people kept their heads down, bent over a phone or a tablet. There were a couple on a nearby table, both checking their phones, neither apparently very interested in the other. Arthur, though, he was fascinated by the large TV screen and what was on it.

There had been another killing. Two more, in fact. The news was calling them the Camelot Killings. There had been a man killed that morning, his body only just discovered, and another brutal killing earlier in the evening. One was an Arthur Penn, killed in Bristol as he left his office. Tall and blonde and probably not much older than Arthur. The other was older, a self-styled druid who had changed his name to Arthur Pendragon and lived in a caravan near Glastonbury, claiming he was the once and future king. Both of them had been run through with a sword.

In some ways it was a relief. Whoever was doing this couldn’t have found Morgana yet, because if they had it would be the real Arthur that they were attacking. But then, perhaps this had just been some nutter at the time and Morgana had used it as a cover. The bodies had never been found, after all, unlike all the murders on the TV. It pointed to all this being someone else. And he could recall all the news reports, albeit from what he’d found months later when he was free again. Arthur had disappeared sometime between that very evening and the following weekend. Nobody was sure when and where. His friends had left, not expecting to see him again for a while, and assumed he had hooked up and not come home. There was never another trace of him, or Morgana. And the killings had abruptly stopped. Nobody had ever been charged.

Arthur was watching the screen intently. He looked a little worried, as well he might, then glanced around the pub suspiciously. Merlin shrank back, clutching the crystal, quietly repeating the spell for the glamour. Arthur didn’t notice him, so it had to still be working. He waited while Arthur stood there checking his phone, presumably for more information on the news. Arthur stood there reading it seriously for a while, until it was his turn at the bar. He ordered in a round of drinks and headed back out to the garden with them.

Merlin waited by the bar for him to get back, deciding there was more risk of someone doing something to the second lot of drinks than getting at Arthur at that point. Besides, he had a fairly good view of the garden and could still watch Arthur.

He could see Gwaine, who’d evidently taken advantage of Arthur’s absence to drape himself all over Percival and stick his tongue down his throat. Gwaine and Percival… yeah, that was something that was long gone too. Percival had died early on, and then Gwaine had gone serious, colder. Nimueh had found a way to wipe people out forever, stop them ever coming back. Gwaine had always claimed that he didn’t believe Merlin about the reincarnation, about Arthur and his knights. But he’d overheard Merlin and Leon talking, heard Merlin say he thought Percival was permanently gone, and he’d never quite been the same since.

Here and now, though, he was the old Gwaine, just one thing on his mind…

Merlin followed when Arthur took the second lot of drinks out, and settled back into his corner.

“Where’s Leon?” Arthur asked, setting the beers down.

It took a moment for Gwaine to surface for air. “Gone for a burger. You seen the prices in here? He’ll be back soon.”

Arthur sat down, looking around the garden. Merlin shrank back in his seat, hoping the glamour would hold. Arthur was looking at people with more interest now, but whether that was because he’d realised there was a possible threat to his life, or whether it was just avoiding watching the display in front of him, Merlin wasn’t sure.

“We could go to a club,” he heard Arthur say.

“We might… uh… call it a night,” Gwaine replied, detaching himself from Percival again. “You and Leon go, though. Maybe get lucky?” He got up, picked up the pint Arthur had bought him and downed it pretty much in one go. “You okay if we go now? Leon won’t be long.”

Arthur shrugged. “Whatever. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh, we intend to,” Gwaine winked at him. “You see if you can get Leon to loosen up a bit. Get him laid, take his mind off your bloody sister.”

Merlin watched him go. That, he knew from speaking to Gwaine months later, was the last he saw of Arthur. He’d left him alone there in the pub garden, expecting Leon to return. But Merlin knew what happened next as well. He waited, watching Arthur slowly drinking his pint and glancing at his watch. Eventually his mobile rang.

Merlin knew how the conversation had gone as well. Leon had called in, he was tired, going home. In fairness, Leon hadn’t realised that Gwaine and Percival had already bailed, and Arthur didn’t enlighten him. If he had, Merlin knew, Leon would probably have come back. Well, that was what he’d always claimed, anyway. And it was probably right, Leon was always a loyal friend to Arthur. He’d never forgiven himself for going back to the flat that night. But none of them had taken the killings that day seriously. None of them had made the connection with Arthur. It was some nutter, miles away. Only Arthur, Merlin could see, had actually looked into the stories.

He was doing it again, checking his phone. Merlin couldn’t quite see what was on the screen, but he knew there had been another body found after the first three. Another Arthur Pendragon. The many fans of myth and legend certainly liked that name.

Arthur himself was starting to look around again, looking carefully at each table. Most of them were just out for a good night, students like Arthur and his friends or groups of friends out for the evening. It was Friday night, after all. Merlin tried to stay back in the shadows. He wanted to pull up his hood but that would only make him look more suspicious.

And then Arthur’s gaze fell on him.

Merlin saw the twitch of recognition, the deepening of the frown on Arthur’s face, and he knew his glamour wasn’t holding up properly. He clutched the crystals to him, whispering the weak spell again, but it wasn’t going to work, not now that Arthur had noticed him. He saw Arthur’s expression harden, watched him get to his feet, head inside the pub.

Merlin had no choice but to follow. He couldn’t lose sight of Arthur, though he knew it would only be a matter of time before Arthur confronted him. He was surprised Arthur hadn’t done that immediately. The glamour had another chance to hold now that Arthur was no longer looking at him. It would hold until Arthur noticed him again. He had to be more careful, had to concentrate on blending in, until whoever was after Arthur found him.

And then, with his magic barely functioning, Merlin didn’t know what he was going to do.

 

 

Arthur shivered in the foyer of the pub. It wasn’t an overly cold night, but the events on the news were starting to unnerve him. Four of his namesakes in one form or another had been murdered that day, and not so far away. The latest one had been less than five miles away.

Part of him wanted to go home. Lance and Gwen were there, but they could just suffer the interruption. Leon would probably be back soon anyway. But for Arthur, right then walking home alone didn’t sound like the cleverest idea in the world. If someone was after him then that was just going to make him an easy target, away from the crowds. That man, the one in the pub, Arthur had never seen him before and yet there was something unmistakeably familiar about him. And he’d been lurking there for a while, watching Arthur. When Arthur had spotted him he’d been staring right at Arthur.

There was an incident line open now, the police were taking the case very seriously. Perhaps he was imagining things, but there was a definite pattern to the killings, and Arthur didn’t want to be the next in line. He dialled the number.

It took forever to get through. There were the usual menus, press 1 if you have information on the murders, press 2 if you want an update, press 3… Soon he was on hold, and waiting. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to, he could feel that man’s eyes on him, boring into his back.

And then, after what seemed like forever. “Incident room.”

“Oh thank God! Don’t hang up! My name’s Arthur Pendragon, I…”

“You being funny, son?” Arthur could tell from the man’s voice that he wasn’t the first one to ring up that evening and make that claim.

“No! That’s my name, I was born with it. Look, I’m sure there’s someone following me. I can give you whatever details you need, address, birthdate, I’m a student up at Bath University, you can check their records. I’m not pissing about! And there is someone following me, I’m sure of it.”

The man on the other end of the phone sighed. “Got a driving licence?”

“Hang on.”

The card was in his wallet. Arthur pulled it out, and read out the number. He could hear the exact moment the man started to take him seriously. There was a change in his tone, suddenly very businesslike.

“Okay, where are you now, Arthur? We’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“I’m in a pub…”

“That’s good. Lots of people there?”

“Yes.”

“Stay in there. Which one is it?”

“Crystal Palace, near the Abbey.”

“I know the one. And you say you think there’s someone following you?”

“He’s been sitting in the beer garden watching me. I don’t know how long for. But there was someone yesterday as well. We were playing football up at the uni and this bloke suddenly turned up naked and started going through our bags, stealing our clothes.”

“Naked? Did you report it?”

“No, we thought it was just someone having a laugh.”

“Hmm. Is it the same person who’s in the pub with you now?”

Arthur sort of thought that it was, although he wasn’t sure why. It didn’t look like the same person. No, that was too bizarre. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t sound sure. Hold on a moment…”

Arthur could hear the man making another call, ordering someone to come out and collect him. It was unnerving, just how seriously they were taking it. What if the murderer really was the man in the pub? There was definitely someone lurking on the other side of the door now, loitering around.

“Okay,” the man was back on the line. “We’re sending a car for you, we’d like to put you under police protection until the killer is found. Stay in the pub, don’t leave. It’s just a precaution.”

It didn’t sound like just a precaution though. Arthur glanced at his watch. “The pub’s going to close soon.”

“Damn. Okay, just stay there. They won’t kick you out immediately, we’ll get a car to you. You got friends with you?”

“No, they’ve gone. I could call them back.”

“Good, do that. And I’ll put a trace on your mobile. Can you turn on tracking for me?”

“Battery’s quite low,” Arthur warned. Tracking always seemed to eat the battery twice as fast.

“Do it anyway, get off the phone and we’ll see how long it lasts. And don’t worry, Arthur, we’ll be there soon.”

Arthur wondered just how much the man would worry if he was in Arthur’s position. Going back into the pub, seeing that man again, it wasn’t the most comforting thought. Instead he stayed in the foyer, switching location services on, and then calling Leon. That went straight to voicemail so he called Lance instead. He had little hope of it getting picked up. Again voicemail, so he texted the pair of them.

“Having some trouble, come to Crystal Palace asap pls hurry.”

Hopefully one of them would see it.

 

 

Mordred had little recollection of the 21st century.

It had been a time when Nimueh started to gather her power, draw people around her who were still loyal to the old ways. Mordred had been one of the earliest to stand at her side and he was proud of that fact. Always, it seemed, he was the first she turned to, the one who was allowed to develop his magic, to lead her army of sorcerers forth in the battle to return magic to the lands. And he loved her for it, the faith she had in him. She reminded him of Morgana, of how she had been back in the day when they’d stood shoulder to shoulder. He’d loved Morgana more, but something had broken in her. Merlin’s fault, most likely. Merlin was responsible for most things that had gone badly for himself and Morgana, after all.

There was a spell, it had to have been a spell. It had allowed Arthur and his friends to gain access to memories of their past lives when they’d grown to adulthood. And then they’d band together again, time after time. Arthur and his loyal supporters, his knights and his sorcerer. And somehow Merlin had caught Morgana up in that spell and she would awaken with the rest of them. For Morgana it had been a cruel awakening as well, usually after two decades of life with Arthur as a brother or a cousin or a friend, suddenly she would be cast out, all of them rejecting her because of her past.

Mordred was going to save her from that. He’d tried a few times in earlier lives, but she hadn’t been interested. That was probably all part of the spell, stopping her from turning to her true nature. Killing Arthur would probably destroy that spell and restore her, and if it didn’t then Mordred would find another way.

Arthur was proving elusive.

This was a stupid time where people were allowed to change their names, change their records. His first killing had been a mistake, he’d been confused by the information he’d magically sourced from the internet. The real King Arthur wasn’t even known in this time, not really, and yet people chose to imitate what they thought he was, what he had been. They didn’t understand the reality of the Pendragons, the monstrous anti-magic dictators that they had been. Here they were seen as heroes, legends. That was probably Merlin’s doing as well.

The second one Mordred had found did actually believe he was the reincarnated king. Mordred had killed him more out of hope than anything else, though he sensed nothing of Arthur in him.

Mordred thought he had him with the third one. Similar name, young, blond, working his way up in the world of business. But the frisson of history, the touch of magic that should have been there was absent. Another mistake.

He was more careful with the fourth, searching around properly, not striking too quickly. It was a better way, really, and Mordred knew he suffered from impatience. But it paid off. Arthur turned up a little younger than Mordred had expected, a university student staying in a flat in Bath, brother to Morgana, his father was Uther… There was no question that this was the man he was looking for. Better yet, Arthur wasn’t quite 20 yet. He wouldn’t remember who he was and would be the easiest of targets. Those others didn’t matter, they were just collateral damage. Perhaps he should have been more discreet with the killings, hidden the bodies better, but with the Merlin from this time out of the way and no sign of the time travelling one yet it wasn’t as if anyone was going to be able to stop him.

Arthur’s flat was easy enough to find. Internet security was as nothing to someone with Mordred’s abilities. Real magic could cut through all those barriers as if they weren’t there. Once he was focusing on this particular Arthur he could find everything – every electronic record that there ever was on him, right down to his first scan in the womb.

Embryo scans weren’t too useful, but photographs were. There he was, a tousle-haired toddler, a sulky teenager, a terrible picture on his passport and driving licence… And he looked just the same. Funny how that worked. Mordred wondered if it was all part of Merlin’s spell, keeping Arthur just how he liked him, over and over. They would all come back anyway, Mordred was proof of that. But only that small band of friends tended to stay the same, over and over.

Personally, Mordred would have made some improvements. But then, Arthur Pendragon really wasn’t his type.

The flat was in one of the old Georgian town houses, taking over the entirety of the second floor. No pokey studio flat for Arthur Pendragon. Nothing ever changed, not really. Always born to a rich family, often to Uther and Ygraine, he had never known a life without privilege. This was no exception.

It was simple enough to get through the front door, a lock and key were no barrier to magic. There was even a convenient list of names beside the doorbells for every level. 2 – Pendragon. Mordred gave it a contemptuous sneer and went in.

The hallway was fairly dark, but he didn’t bother turning on the light. He could see as much as he needed to, which was the large stairway in front of him. Quietly he walked up to the second floor, found the doorway to the flat, and let himself in.

The flat itself was spacious and light. The occupants obviously had no concerns about money, every light was on and there was music playing loudly from one of the rooms. Mordred vaguely recalled his own life in this period. He’d been living in a squat in Birmingham, dead from drug abuse long before he was 30. Arthur always had it all. He always had companions too. It was, Mordred knew, unlikely he was going to find Arthur alone. The records indicated that he had two flatmates, Lance Du Lac and Leon Knight. Mordred had never actually met Lancelot, but he knew Leon well enough. It would be the same pair, of course it would. They were always all drawn together in every lifetime.

He walked into the living room. It was unoccupied, and there were bags and boxes everywhere as if people were just moving in, or about to vacate.

One of the other rooms was definitely occupied, he could hear a couple of voices, one male, one female, laughing and talking together in the room that the music was coming from. He couldn’t be sure of taking them both out at once, not before one had called out a warning to anyone else who might be in the flat. Instead he tried the other rooms first.

A bathroom, a kitchen and two bedrooms, all empty. There was no immediate indication in either bedroom as to whose they were, the rooms were all a good size. As he stepped out of the second bedroom, the door to the occupied room opened and a woman ran out, laughing at something, heading towards the kitchen, stopping as she caught sight of him.

“Arthur? I… oh!”

It was Gwen, casual in a long t-shirt and nothing else by the look of it. Just like Arthur, she appeared much the same as she always had done.  

“Gwen,” he breathed, taking a step towards her.

“Who are you?” Of course, she would have no idea who he was. Nobody remembered the past until Arthur did. That was Merlin and his stupid spell. It had backfired on him of course, once Arthur had gone. Nobody recalled any of the past lives after that.

“Where’s Arthur?”

He saw her give a quick, frightened glance towards the bedroom she had just come out of. Well, that would be a disappointment for Merlin, if this particular Arthur turned out to be straight. It almost made Mordred want to leave them be. But that wasn’t what he was here for.

“Gwen?” came a man’s voice from the bedroom.

She opened her mouth to answer, to warn him, but Mordred didn’t give her a chance. There was a tiny gasp of shock from her lips, but nothing more. She slid to the ground, dead instantly just as those false Arthurs had been. It worked well, the sword he’d brought with him. His old sword, Clarent, forged in dragonfire and given a kick of Nimueh’s dark magic to help it along. It had taken time to locate Clarent, but these things could never be destroyed. It always had to be somewhere in the world, hidden for safe keeping, and eventually they’d found it buried deep with a mountain. Excalibur would be somewhere too, Merlin would have hidden it well. They’d never managed to find that. But without Arthur, Excalibur didn’t matter.

“Gwen?”

He could hear movement from the bedroom, and a moment later there was a dark-haired man standing in the doorway, staring at him. It was Lancelot.

“Who… Gwen! My god!”

Mordred let him rush over to the dead woman, using the time to cast a quick spell of silence around the flat. Nobody would hear anything outside, not even the people he could hear walking around upstairs. And this Lancelot would talk, tell him exactly where Arthur was.

“Where’s Arthur?”

“You’ve killed her!” There were tears pouring down Lancelot’s handsome face as he turned to look at Mordred, then rush at him in a fury.

“Stop,” Mordred told him calmly, his eyes glowing a molten gold. Lancelot froze halfway across the room. “You’ll tell me where Arthur is.”

Lancelot glared at him, but said nothing. It would be costing him a great deal to do so, Mordred knew. He cast another spell, stronger, recalling the tales he’d heard about the original Lancelot. Brave and true, probably the very worst of them to try and break. Killing Gwen so fast had been a mistake, there was Lancelot’s weakness. He could have used Gwen to make Lancelot do anything, anything at all. Call Arthur and bring him here even.

Although that was a good idea. There would be a phone somewhere. A quick text would do the trick. Still, he didn’t like to be defied. Lancelot was on his knees, holding his head, groaning quietly.

“Where is Arthur?” Mordred asked again. “I can make it stop, if you tell me.”

Lancelot muttered something that sounded a lot like “Never,” and then doubled over. The spell, Mordred recalled, particularly disliked defiance.

On the coffee table, close to where Gwen’s lifeless body lay, there was a mobile phone that suddenly started ringing. The name that came up was Arthur’s. Mordred picked it up and held it out to Lancelot.

“Answer it. Tell him to come home.”

It was impressive, the way Lancelot refused despite the pain he had to be in. But then the other knights, centuries before, had told him about Lancelot. Told him how he’d sacrificed himself for Arthur. Stupidly, foolishly brave. Mordred realised he would get nothing from him, and was wasting time. The phone stopped ringing.

One swift stroke of his sword, and Lancelot was lying lifeless beside his love. Mordred considered them for a moment. The knights had become troublesome as the years without Arthur had gone by. They’d been drawn to Merlin instead of Arthur, had been prominent in the resistance. Lancelot and Gwen had led one of the foremost groups, protected by Merlin and the other misguided rogue magic users. They’d been a thorn in Nimueh’s side for nearly a decade before they were taken and destroyed. He could spare Nimueh that, cast the spell that would stop them ever returning. The same spell he was going to use on Arthur when he found him. It would only take a few minutes.

The phone bleeped once, and a message appeared across the screen.

“Having some trouble, come to Crystal Palace asap pls hurry.”

Arthur’s name was at the top of the message. Mordred didn’t even bother with the internet. There were a couple of local directories right there on the coffee table, open at the page for pizza delivery. It only took a moment to flick through the alphabetical listing at the back by business name, and he’d found what he was looking for. There was even a street map of the city centre that showed him exactly where he needed to go.

Lancelot and Gwen forgotten, he hurried out of the flat and down onto the street. Arthur, the right one this time, was as good as dead.

 

It had been nearly half an hour since Arthur had made the calls.

There was no sign of the police car, or of either of his friends. Arthur had tried Gwaine and Percival as well, but he knew they weren’t going to be looking at their phones. He stayed in the pub, trying to keep close to the bar, trying to ignore the fact that there was that man sitting in the corner, watching him. There were very few people left now.

“Drink up please!”

Arthur heard the bell ring, heard the barman’s shout. He’d called last orders when Arthur had been making the phone calls. Staff were probably in a hurry to get home.

He had no choice, he was going to have to wait outside. Slowly, reluctantly, he made his way to the door. He didn’t want to look over at the table by the window where the man was sitting. But he could see movement out of the corner of his eye and knew he would be getting up, following Arthur.

It wouldn’t even look suspicious because the pub was closing. Nobody was going to remember this when they found Arthur’s body later, no doubt lying in one of the little alleyways nearby.

The police were going to be busy, it was a Friday night after all, but he’d thought they might have moved a bit faster. He wondered about Morgana, whether he should call her and get her to pick him up. But he really didn’t want his sister caught up in this, put in danger.

He stepped out onto the street. It was the older part of the city, all cobblestones, difficult to run on if he needed to. Staying there really wasn’t an option. Too many of the pubs closed around that time, preferring the gastropub food trade to the late night drinkers who were likely to cause trouble. A club was his best option, get in and ring the policeman again, tell him where he had gone. Or just go home, hope he could outrun his stalker. Arthur was on the football team, after all. He wasn’t exactly slow.

His phone rang, suddenly, startling him. He looked at the ID. Leon, finally.

“Hi Mate. Sorry, only just saw your text, must have come in when I was eating. Are you okay?”

“Not really.” Arthur was very, very aware that he was no longer alone out on the street. He turned to look at his stalker, who simply stood in the entrance to the pub, watching him. “Where are you?”

“I’m nearly home, do you still need me to come back?”

It was like admitting a weakness, but Arthur knew from the news that bravado right now was going to get him killed. If he walked away right now it would mean turning his back on the man, which would doubtless mean a knife between the ribs a moment later.

“Uh… yeah. Can you?”

“Been drinking. But I could probably drive if I have to. I’m in now, I’ll get the keys. Oh.”

Leon suddenly went quiet, and Arthur could hear a rattling noise on the other end of the phone. “Leon?”

“Yeah, the front door was open. Wide open.”

Arthur had a sudden, horrible sense of foreboding. “Don’t go in. Call the police.”

“It’s okay, there’s nobody here. Probably that old bat on the ground floor, she’s been wandering round at funny times of the night.”

“No, Leon…”

“There’s no sign of anyone, come on, a burglar’s going to break into the ground floor flat first, aren’t they?” Arthur could hear his faintly laboured breathing as he climbed the stairs. “No, there’s no sign of anything on the first floor either. It’s okay, I’ll just get the… shit! Oh my god! Oh fuck… fucking hell!”

“Leon? Leon!”

Leon hadn’t ended the call, although there was a thud and then he got fainter as if he were further away. Arthur could hear him still. He thought he made out Lance’s name amidst the cursing, and then there was the distinct sound of someone throwing up. For a moment after that it was quiet, then suddenly the phone call was cut off.

Arthur tried to call back, but it went straight to voicemail. Perhaps Leon was calling someone else. If not… well, Arthur didn’t want to think about what might have happened. But then, if the killer was there with Arthur, how could he also be with Leon?

There was no time to stand around. Arthur started to run, heading for the nearest taxi rank. There was one by the Abbey, that would do just fine. Leon liked to save money, he’d walked home, but Arthur could be up the hill in minutes. But he’d forgotten about the cobbles, ancient and preserved, pretty for the tourists, uneven and tricky. He tripped, stumbled, almost falling over. As he straightened, wincing at the pain in his toe, he realised there was someone standing at the end of the little street, just ahead of him.

“Arthur.”

It was another complete stranger who appeared to know him. This one wasn’t so very different from the first, dark-haired and pale skinned. Fully dressed, which might have made him less disturbing if he hadn’t been all in black, impassive and cold, and holding a sword at his side.

Arthur took a step back, no doubt in his mind that this must be the killer. There was no sign of the promised police car, and a glance back told him the last of the pub staff had already closed and probably locked the door. There was nobody in sight, even his stalker had vanished. The man in front of him raised his sword, rushing at Arthur and swinging it in a cruel arc as he moved.

And then suddenly there was a gunshot, two, and the man was face down in the street, the sword lying at his side, shining under the streetlights.

For a moment Arthur stood there, staring, and then someone grabbed his arm.

“Come with me if you want to live!”

The other man, the one he’d thought was stalking him, was there. It was the man from the previous day, though Arthur wondered how he’d ever thought it looked like someone else, because it was clearly him. And he’d just shot the swordsman in the chest, twice.

“Come on!” he tugged at Arthur’s arm again. “That won’t keep him down for long.”

It was two bullets, in the chest. Of course it was going to keep him down, permanently. But even as he watched, the man on the ground started to stir. Arthur thought he could see a faint golden glow around him.

“Arthur!” the other man was getting frantic. “We have to go! Now!”

There was no time for questions. He had to trust one or the other. One had swung a sword at him, the other had stalked him, had a problem keeping his clothes on, and seemed to have no problem unloading a gun into the other man’s chest. As if to prove that, the stalker fired another two shots at the man on the ground. It kept him down that time.

“Run!” the man yelled again, waving that gun dangerously.

Neither option looked particularly healthy to Arthur. But if he didn’t do what the gunman said then he was probably going to get shot. One or both of the men were clearly insane. He chose to believe the one who hadn’t just tried to cut him in half. So he followed the gunman back past the pub, down the street and away from the swordsman. As they turned the corner Arthur risked a glance back. The swordsman was getting to his feet, a definite golden glow around his chest where he’d been shot. He was stretching and flexing his arm. Impossible.

Arthur didn’t wait to see any more. He ran.

It was late enough that the streets were almost empty, those who were out were hanging around the bars and clubs that stayed open later, and there weren’t any in the immediate area. The few people out when they hit the main street took one look at the gun in Arthur’s companion’s hand and immediately ran in the opposite direction. They’d probably heard the gunshots, Arthur realised. No sign of any police though. He could really do with a few policemen turning up right then. Preferably armed as heavily as the ones in the movies.

The gunman headed straight for another side street, where a car was parked, Arthur still at his side.

“Get in!” the man ordered.

Arthur wasn’t sure, but he thought there had been a faint gold glow when the man had opened the car door for him. He hesitated for a moment, and the man more or less pushed him into the seat.

“I can explain this, just get in!”

He was considerably stronger than he looked, or perhaps Arthur was just in shock. There was plenty to be shocked about.

Behind them, Arthur could see the swordsman had just turned the corner. He was running towards them, no sign of the injuries he had to have sustained from those gunshots. The gunman started up the car, even though he didn’t appear to have a key. Arthur had heard about lock jammers, about them getting into cars, then using a key programmer to make a new key and drive off. But the man had no hardware with him. The ignition was empty.

“How are you doing that?” Arthur asked, staring at the empty ignition. “Where’s the key? Is this your car?”

There was no answer, the gunman swerved the car around in a sharp turn, headed straight for the swordsman and mowed him down, not stopping.

“No!” Arthur yelled. “Let me out! You’ve got to stop… you can’t do that!”

But he could, and he did. They sped up the street, round a corner and through the rabbit warren of streets that led onto a road out of the city. Arthur was glad it was late enough that the roads were reasonably clear, because the man was a maniac, weaving around the relatively few cars out there and taking no notice of the speed limits at all.

“You know it’s 30 here, right?” Arthur attempted after yet another near miss. The city roads were not built for speed.

“You know he just tried to kill you, _right_?” the man retorted. “You know he’ll try again, and again, _right_?”

They were at a huge roundabout, but apparently traffic lights were something you just ignored. Arthur wondered if closing his eyes would help. Then they were out onto a dual carriageway, barely missing a car travelling along it as they joined. A horn blared behind them, but they were already away, halfway up a steep hill.

“That was give way!”

“He gave way!”

“Jesus!” Arthur flung his hands up to clutch at his head. That was good. It slightly blocked the view. “You killed him, you can stop, let me out any time.”

“He’s not dead,” the man told him, glancing quickly at him then away, back at the road. That was one good thing, he kept his eyes on the road. “You saw him get up when I shot him. Running him down isn’t going to stop him for long. We have to get as far away as possible. Damn, this is all my fault!” He hit the steering wheel hard, furious. “So stupid!”

“They’ll probably let you off with a shorter sentence if you hand yourself in,” Arthur told him, but he was ignored.

“He followed me!”

“Who?”

“Mordred! When I came back for you I left everything behind. He got the spell, improved it. He still has all his magic, and I have _nothing._ ”

Arthur blinked. “Uh… magic?”

“Yes! He’s strong… too strong. And mine’s gone, the time travel knocked it out somehow. I did something wrong, it was all too rushed.”

A little like the driving then, Arthur thought. The road was narrowing to a single lane. It was too dark to be going that fast. “Time travel?” Arthur asked gently. He decided it was probably best, no matter how outlandish the subject matter became, if he talked slowly and calmly. After all, he’d been effectively kidnapped by a nutter who believed in magic and time travel and who was driving the car Arthur was sitting in.

“Yes! You don’t exist in the future. I came back to save you but I can’t protect you like this. Not without my magic.”

“It’s very kind of you to try,” Arthur told him carefully. “And what’s your name? I don’t think we were introduced.”

“I’m Merlin.”

“Oh. Like the magician?” And quite, quite mad, obviously. Arthur swore that if he got out of this alive then he was going to _kill_ his father for calling him Arthur. Being named after the legendary king was getting less funny by the moment. “Well, if you can’t protect me, maybe you should just slow down and let me out? No! Eyes on the road!”

Merlin had turned to look at him just as they were approaching a run of sharp bends. Arthur knew this road, he’d driven up it to the motorway enough times, and he knew that in a moment there was a sharp bend with a steep drop on one side.

“Slow down!”

Perhaps the panic in Arthur’s voice got through, or perhaps this Merlin character didn’t have quite as much of a deathwish as it appeared. At any rate, they slowed a little, and were still just about on the road after they rounded the bend. Arthur was fairly sure they took the turn on two wheels though.

“Where are we going?” Arthur asked, as the car sped up again. He had his phone in his left hand, and was trying to compose a text one-handed. Just a few words, but he needed to know where they were heading.

“Away from here. I need to find a way to get my magic back so I can fight him.”

“Wales? London?”

“Wales, I need… what are you doing?”

The car lurched horribly as Merlin made a grab for Arthur’s phone. Arthur held it out of reach and pressed send, hoping that Leon was okay, that he or Gwaine would see it and make sense of it. He wished he had time to call Morgana who might see it faster, but it had been easier to hit reply to the last text sent, and that had been to the pair of them.

“You idiot!” Merlin yelled at him. “Who did you call? Tell me it wasn’t Morgana!”

“Friends. They saw you the other day, Merlin. They’ve got a description. Kidnapping’s a crime, you know? You can just stop at that lay-by up ahead and… _what are you doing?_ ” That last part was almost a shriek as Merlin put his foot down and sped towards the traffic lights. They were turning red and Arthur really didn’t like the way that the car was just going faster.

“He’s found us!” was all the explanation Merlin gave.

Arthur looked in the mirror. Sure enough there was another car approaching, headlights on full beam and dazzling, bearing down on them. Merlin ignored the traffic lights and raced through them.

“May as well go to Wales after all,” Merlin muttered, heading down the slip road at an alarming speed. “How’d he find us so fast? My magic’s not strong enough for him to sense it.”

“Police reports of a maniac driver?” Arthur suggested. He was hanging onto the seat with one hand, the door with the other. The car behind was probably the police. It couldn’t possibly be the man Merlin had run over. Nobody could get up from that. “Probably not hard, I bet the occupants of most of those cars we passed tweeted something about it.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with writing letters,” Merlin growled, shooting straight onto the motorway and barely missing a car that was innocently crawling along in the slow lane at 70 or so.

Arthur really didn’t know what to say to that. Also he thought he’d probably left his stomach back there on the slip road. Merlin moved straight over to the fast lane. They were easily doing 90 and when Arthur glanced at the speedometer, he wished he hadn’t because it was almost at three figures.

“We’re going to die,” he groaned.

“Not if I can help it,” Merlin replied. It was ironic, considering it was his terrifying driving that was going to kill them. “I’ve got away from them in less powerful cars than this.”

It was a good car, Arthur noted now that he thought about it. He hadn’t noticed the make when they got in, but the engine was still purring despite the abuse Merlin was heaping on it, and the seats had that expensive look and feel to them. Unlike the clothes of the slightly scruffy man driving.

This probably wasn’t Merlin’s car, Arthur guessed. He could add car theft to his ever-growing list of crimes. Arthur glanced in the mirror again. The other car was definitely chasing them. It was impossible to tell what type it was, but it looked low and sporty from the position of the headlights, and it seemed to be gaining on them. He saw Merlin looking too, and felt the car go a little faster.

There was a sign up ahead telling them that the M32 was just a mile away. That was okay, it was just a turning off, they were in the fast lane and wouldn’t be troubled by cars joining either, it would be fine. Yes, that junction would be fine. It was the junction after it that was going to kill them. That one was bad enough if you were driving at a safe speed.

“You know there’s the Almondsbury interchange up ahead, right?” Arthur warned. “M4 M5 junction? You know we’re heading right for it?”

Merlin’s face was set, grim. He glanced in the mirror again. “Least of our worries.”

Arthur twisted to look over his shoulder. The pursuing car was much closer now, almost on them. It was impossible to see anything much other than the headlights dazzling him. Late as it was, the motorway was still fairly busy. There were quite a few lorries in the slow lanes, off on long journeys through the night where they would be less likely to be hampered by traffic jams. It would make avoiding the car behind difficult, especially as the lanes were starting to split into six. Behind them, the car started to undertake, slowly gaining on them despite the speed they were going. As it drew alongside, Arthur saw the now familiar face of the swordsman… Mordred, Merlin had called him.

“He survived…” Arthur breathed.

“Yeah, he does that,” Merlin snapped. “Protective magic, bullets just slow him down a bit. Seat belt on?”

“The way you’re driving? What do you think?”

Merlin slammed on the brakes, throwing Arthur hard against the belt. There was nothing behind them, evidently the other cars were giving them a wide berth, and just as well. Arthur thought he could do with some of that protective magic himself.

“Merlin!”

Merlin ignored him, spinning the car around to face the other way.

“My god _no!_ ”

But Merlin started heading the wrong way down the motorway, ignoring the horns and flashing lights of the vehicles coming towards them.

“Hold on,” Merlin warned.

“This is the wrong way! In the motorway fast lane! Merlin!”

Arthur was never going to bother with one of those stupid supposedly white-knuckle rides at theme parks ever again. They were nothing after this. In fact going home and sitting by the fire and drinking Horlicks every evening for the rest of his life sounded like an excellent plan. Because Merlin had started to pick up speed and was heading for the central reservation.

Arthur closed his eyes, his heart beating so fast he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. When the impact came a few moments later it jarred right through his body. There was the sound of glass shattering, metal creaking and scraping. But they were through and heading back down the motorway on the other side.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Why the fuck did I get in the car with you?”

There were sirens blaring on the other side of the motorway now, blue lights flashing and the familiar sight of police cars coming towards them. But they were on the wrong side.

“He’s following us,” Merlin announced grimly.

Sure enough, a glance back through the window (Arthur’s side mirror was lying on the central reservation half a mile or so back) revealed a car bearing down on them far too quickly.

“Damn, I’m losing speed,” Merlin told him.

The ride wasn’t anywhere near as smooth as it had been. It felt as if the suspension was off, hardly surprising given what Merlin had put the car through. They were lucky the wheels were still attached to the car, never mind still carrying them along at any kind of speed. And then suddenly they were hit from behind, shunted forward, and then hit again. Mordred had caught up with them.

Merlin spun the car around a second time so that they were again facing the oncoming traffic. But this time he had crossed lanes to get away from Mordred as well, and barely missed a huge lorry crawling along in the slow lane towards them. The lorry swerved right to avoid their car, just as Mordred changed lanes to follow them, moving himself straight into the path of the lorry. There was the sickening sound of a crash and brakes squealing as the two vehicles collided, pieces of metal flying into the road. The lorry didn’t stop moving, swinging round after the impact and sliding towards them, hitting their car and shunting it onto the hard shoulder and the steep grassy bank beyond it.

For a terrifying moment Arthur thought they were going to be crushed. They hit the motorway barrier with a bone-jarring thud, but then the lorry seemed to slow, as if something were holding it back. It was only momentary, then it carried on its trajectory, smashing the front of their car but going no further. When he looked at Merlin he swore he could see a golden glow fading from his eyes. He was gripping a stone or crystal or something in his right hand. He looked exhausted, done in.

Arthur took his opportunity, struggled out of the seat belt and forced the car door open.

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin begged. He was trying to get out of his own seat belt, but the door had buckled and although he didn’t seem to be badly hurt he was stuck. “He’ll still be alive. He’ll kill you!”

Mordred’s car was a twisted, smoking wreck, but Arthur wouldn’t put anything past him. He wasn’t sure who he felt least safe with, but after that car chase he wasn’t going to stick with Merlin a moment longer. There were policemen running towards them, Tasers trained on them. Arthur put his hands up.

“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot! I wasn’t the one driving!”

That didn’t stop them coming over and arresting him. As they drove him away, handcuffed and kept in a separate car from Merlin, Arthur could see other officers opening what was left of the door to Mordred’s car.

The car was empty.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The new police holding centre was impressive.

Arthur had heard about it from Gwaine, who had visited it a few months back following a particularly spectacular drinking session that had resulted in a late night swim. The owners of the private pool he’d decided to use hadn’t been too amused and had called the police. Bribing from Gwaine’s father had stopped them pressing charges, but still he’d spent the night in the new, extra-strong cells.

Arthur didn’t get as far as the cells. The drivers licence and credit cards in his wallet were enough to prove who he was. The handcuffs came off, and he was ushered into an office.

“I’m Inspector Tristan Warwick, it was me you spoke to on the phone earlier.   Sorry, son, there was a break in and the car sent for you got diverted.”

Arthur found himself sitting with a tall, weather-worn officer who was probably in his late 40s.

“The pub closed,” Arthur told him. “I had to stand outside.” Somehow, that seemed the thing to focus on. Standing outside the pub. Everything else, everything afterwards… he didn’t want to think about it. He still wasn’t sure how he’d survived it. Arthur wasn’t a coward by any means, but that had been terrifying.

“Yeah… sorry. Isolde!” He called to a female officer who was walking past the open door to the office. “You couldn’t get Arthur here a cuppa?”

“I’m not the tea lady, Tristan,” she retorted, giving him the finger. Still, she paused in the doorway and gave Arthur a kind smile. “You’re the lad who just had the ride of his life, right?”

Arthur nodded. “Not sure I ever want to sit in a car again!”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’ll see if I can find some biscuits too.”

“Mine’s white, two sugars,” Tristan called after her.

“Get your own,” she called back.

The inspector smiled fondly at her retreating back, then sat back in his chair, grinning at Arthur. “Women, eh? She loves me really. Now, I’m sorry Arthur, but I’m going to need to ask you a lot of questions. You think you’re up to answering them?”

“Yes. I’m okay.”

“Good. Well, we’ll have a doctor look you over in a bit. I still don’t know how you two managed to smash through the central reservation barrier like that and still keep going. That should have stopped you, or at least damaged the car so much you couldn’t go on. It barely made a dent.”

That was something Arthur had wondered about as well, once he’d had time to think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a weak point?”

“I suppose so.”

“Merlin said… I know this sounds stupid… he said he had magic powers.”

“Magic powers?” Tristan repeated. “Oookay…”

“I know.”

“What else did he say?” Tristan leaned across the desk and pressed a button on what looked like some sort of intercom. “Mind if I record this? I’m useless at taking notes. The psych looking at Emrys wants to listen in as well, if that’s okay?”

Arthur shrugged. “Whatever. He was rambling a lot, some of it didn’t make sense. He seemed to think he was from the future, and that he’d cast a spell to send himself back in time to save me from Mordred… that’s the man in the other car, the one who had the sword.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow at the mention of time travel but made no comment. “Did you see the sword, or did Emrys just tell you about it?”

“Oh I saw it. He tried to cut me in half with it. Merlin shot him, twice, in the chest. And then we ran, but Mordred got up.   It was like we’d just pushed him over, nothing more. He ran after us. Merlin stole a car, we got in and then he turned it round and ran Mordred down. And yet, Mordred still somehow got a car of his own and followed us. He was chasing us, slammed into the back of the car. He wanted us dead, no question.”

“What about Emrys? Did he make any threats? We found a gun on him, as you say. Did he try to shoot you with it? Threaten you with it?”

“No. He made out he was here to…”

“By here you mean in 2015 as opposed to whenever it is he thinks he’s come from?”

“Yes. He said he was here to save me. But the time travel spell went wrong and he lost his magic. This Mordred, he apparently still has his magic. That’s why he’s stronger than Merlin. Something about refining the spell.”

“So they _both_ think they have magic?”

“I suppose. I didn’t talk to Mordred. He looked mad. Merlin… not so much… not until he started driving.”

“Yeah. Hold on…”

They were briefly interrupted by another officer calling the inspector out. Arthur watched them talking hurriedly in lowered tones. He didn’t like the way they both kept glancing at him, or how tired Warwick looked when he came back in. Warwick was holding a large yellow file that the other officer had given him. He hadn’t thought to ask yet

“Arthur, I’m afraid there’s been some bad news.” He gave a heavy sigh. “God, I’m not the best at doing this.”

Arthur felt slightly sick. He had a feeling that he already knew what it was. Leon had walked into something at the flat. “My friends?”

“Yes. Lance Du Lac and Gwen Smith.   There was a break in earlier tonight. They were both found dead. I’m sorry.”

“Oh god. And Leon? What about Leon?”

Tristan opened the file, had a quick look then closed it again. “Leon Knight was the one who found them and reported it. He’s in shock, but the attacker had gone before he arrived. Back in the city centre with you by then, we think. We suspect their attacker was looking for you, the killings followed the same pattern as the others.”

“The others being the people who they think might have been King Arthur,” Arthur filled in for him.

Tristan gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s right. Maybe his English tutor made him read Mallory too many times, and this is what you get. You can’t second-guess people like this. My life would be a damn sight easier if you could.”

“It’s my fault then, that they died. If they didn’t know me then they’d be fine.”

Tristan shook his head. “Don’t think like that. You’re not to blame. It’s a name, Arthur, that’s all it is. Just some strange trigger in his head. Nothing to do with you.”

Isolde appeared and handed over a steaming mug of strong, sweet tea. There was a smiling blue cat on the mug. Arthur gazed at it. Gwen had a cat, absolutely adored it. That cat was going to be sitting waiting, and Gwen was never going to come home to it. Ever. It might not be his fault, but he felt responsible.

“Did you get both of them?” he asked instead. “The man… Mordred, from the other car?”

“Not yet, but he can’t have got far,” Tristan assured him. “Mordred and Merlin… they really picked their names.”

“Not their real names, then?”

Tristan flicked through the file again. “Well, we’ve not found any trace of this Mordred character yet, we’re trying to pull up CCTV footage. But unlikely as it seems, Merlin Emrys is real enough and doesn’t even appear to have had a name change. He’s been living in the city for a few years. Never so much as a parking ticket before.”

Arthur could only see part of the file from the angle at which he was sitting. It was frustrating. He would have liked to look through it himself, to try to puzzle out why on earth the two men had targeted him in particular. “He shot the other guy… Mordred. It didn’t seem to stop him, then Merlin ran him down and Mordred still came back and tried to run us off the motorway. How’s that possible?”

“Drugs?” Tristan shrugged. “You see all sorts. If this Mordred character was high enough, he wouldn’t even notice if someone ripped his arm off. That’s probably all it was. And he might have been wearing protective gear. Bullet proof vest or something like it. If you’d only just started up the car it wouldn’t have been going that fast.”

“Merlin hit him straight on and drove right over him.”

“We’ll add that to the list of charges,” Tristan mused. “It’s already pretty extensive. Kidnapping, attempted murder, car theft, dangerous driving, illegal possession of firearms, resisting arrest…   We’re assuming at this stage it was the other guy who’s actually committed the murders, and this Merlin character’s probably his accomplice. But at this rate he’s going to get certified insane and the trial’s just going to be a farce.”

“Really?” Arthur didn’t know why he was so surprised. It wasn’t as if what Merlin had said made any sense. Of course he wasn’t King Arthur. Stupid to even consider it.

“Dr Aredian’s down there now, analysing him. That’s the guy who was listening in on you just now. The information you gave us really helped, apparently. He said Emrys was making no sense, just asking to see you. At least he has something to work with now.”

Arthur nodded. “Can I call my family, let them know I’m okay? Or Leon?”

“We’ve already spoken to your father and sister. You’ll be staying here for a few more hours, just in case Mordred tries another attack. But eventually we’d rather you were at your father’s house, the security’s good. Your sister’s with Mr Knight at the moment, I gather she’s going take him to stay at your father’s house too until the investigation’s complete. Better security there, easier for us to keep watch. Obviously the flat is a crime scene and he’s a key witness. I’ll have someone drive you to your father’s when we’re done here.”

“Thank you.” Arthur hoped they’d do a better job than they had in picking him up from the pub. “Is Leon here being questioned too?”

“No. He was pretty shaken, then Miss Smith’s brother arrived at the scene and obviously that was very stressful and upsetting. No, we’ll talk to him properly tomorrow.”

Arthur couldn’t help feeling a little surge of disappointment. He would have liked Leon to be there, or Morgana to have come over to be with him instead of his friend. There was no mention of his father, of course. No question of him coming over to the holding centre to pick Arthur up. Uther Pendragon would probably decide this was all Arthur’s own fault in some way. Perhaps it showed in his face, because Tristan sighed and got to his feet.

“I’ll go and see if I can rustle us up a sandwich or something. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You ring your family, I’ll give you a bit of privacy.” Disappointingly he picked up the file with all its interesting material on Merlin. But he left, and finally Arthur was on his own again.

Arthur took a few moments just to sit, quietly, trying to take in everything that had happened to him. Lance and Gwen were dead. That was unbelievable, impossible to understand. Leon, finding them like that… He reached for his phone, and dialled Leon’s number. It was his fault, somehow. That was what it felt like. He heard it ring a few times, and then it was answered.

“Arthur! Thank god! I’ve been worried sick! Are you okay?”

It wasn’t Leon, it was Morgana. Yes, Tristan had said he was staying at their father’s place. Arthur was surprised what a relief it was to hear her familiar voice.

“Yeah… I’m at the police station, or custody centre or whatever it is now. That new place.”

“Yes, they called us. Do you want me to come and get you?”

He did, actually. He wouldn’t even have minded the disapproving looks his father was bound to give him because of course just being in a place like that would be bad enough. Right then he could do with one or both of them being there. But Mordred was still out there somewhere and either of them could become a target, out on the roads, unprepared and defenceless.

“No, stay there. They’re bringing me to you when we’re finished here, I’m fine.” That last part was a lie, but she didn’t need to know that. “How’s Leon doing?”

There was a pause, and she answered in a hushed voice. “Not great. The bodies had been hacked pretty badly apparently.   I didn’t see, I didn’t want to see. But there were bloody footprints everywhere, even in the hall, and god, the _smell_ , Arthur! He’s taken some zopiclone but it’s not working. And Elyan insisted on seeing the bodies even though Leon had ID-ed them already, god knows what he’s going through now.”

“Where is he?”

“Back with his family. Arthur, I’m terrified for you. Are you sure you’re safe there?”

He didn’t think he’d ever heard her so worried. But then Morgana had always had dreams, visions. She knew better than anyone what it was like to have troubled sleep. He could remember as a child waking up to hear her screaming in the next room. Sometimes she screamed his name. She’d been in and out of psychiatrist offices for most of her young life, right up until she was about seventeen, and then it all seemed to stop. At least, that was what she had told everyone. Sometimes, Arthur wondered. Sometimes, when they were both staying in the same place, he still heard her crying in the night. But when he asked her about it, she would always deny it. Always. But perhaps not this time.

“Did you dream something?” he asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer. “Did you dream this?”

“Not this,” she told him. “But you, Arthur. I dreamed that it was _you_. You died, right in front of me, and I was just watching. I wouldn’t do that, Arthur. I wouldn’t just watch.”

It sounded as if she was crying. Morgana didn’t cry, she was tough as nails. He hadn’t heard her cry in years.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, of course. I’ll come home, I’ll get a taxi if they won’t take me.”

“No! Stay away from me!”

She was ill again. The trauma must have brought it back. One more casualty of that night. Gwen and Morgana had been such good friends. He sighed, she’d been doing so well for so long.

“Morgs, I’m coming home and I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“Please, Arthur…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t do this. If you stay away from me, it won’t happen. Merlin… you said you saw Merlin yesterday didn’t you?”

He didn’t ask how she knew that it had been Merlin, where she got the name from. But he’d long since learned not to question what Morgana did and didn’t know. “Merlin’s the nutcase who kidnapped me and nearly killed me. He’s been arrested, he’s not going anywhere. He drove the wrong way up the fast lane of the M4. I don’t know how he didn’t kill us both. Tell me you don’t know him!”

He heard a little moan of distress on the other end of the phone. “You have to trust Merlin,” she breathed. “Stay away from me, and trust Merlin. Stay with him, Arthur, promise me.”

Arthur sighed. “Another vision?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Yes.”

And the line went dead.

Arthur sat back in the chair, running a hand through his hair, not sure what to do. If Morgana was ill again then their father would need to know. But he’d put her through so much in the past, sessions with psychiatrists who were supposed to cure her but just made things worse, medication that made her dull and overtired, ‘holidays’ to clinics that were supposed to help her. Arthur didn’t want her put through any of that again. There had to be another way.

His phone was full of text and missed calls. Gwaine, frantic and almost hysterical by the third message. His father, clinical and detached but insisting that Arthur call him. Morgana, calling over and over, desperate. The police, trying to call him back, find why he wasn’t outside the pub.

He’d flicked it onto silent, of course, when he’d been trying to sneak a message out during the car journey. After that he’d never given it another thought.

Somewhere in the vast, solid building was the man who had caused all this. Or one of them anyway. Morgana was ill. Arthur wasn’t going to listen to her. Merlin was as mad as she was, they’d probably met in one of the centres she’d been sent to in the past. Arthur couldn’t trust him, he wouldn’t.

Because apart from all the other reasons, trusting Merlin would mean believing the impossible and Arthur wasn’t ready for that.

 

“So,” Dr Aredian leaned back in his chair, regarding Merlin sceptically. “Let me make sure I’ve got this absolutely right.”

Across the interview table from him Merlin sighed, tired of the interrogation already. They’d taken Arthur away from him, out of his sight. At any moment Mordred could turn up and it would all be over. Or Morgana. He was sure he’d heard somebody say they’d called the witch. He was certain she’d had something to do with Arthur’s death. Things had changed, though; Lance and Gwen hadn’t been killed the first time around. There was something different.

It was probably him. And so far the difference wasn’t a good one.

“You’re Merlin Emrys, resident of 35 Great Combe Street, Bath, right?”

“Yes. Let me see Arthur.”

“You’re also, according to what you’ve told Mr Pendragon, a time traveller, a wizard, and here to save his life.”

Merlin just looked at him, trying to convey the contempt he was feeling. He remembered this man from long ago, in a different body, a different time. Yet in essence he seemed to be the same. Still trying to stamp out magic. He wouldn’t enjoy the future that was coming.

“Arthur’s in danger,” Merlin told him slowly, carefully. “You need to let me go, I can protect him.”

“Right…” Aredian raised his eyebrows at that, looking towards what had to be a two-way mirror, sharing his scepticism with whoever was on the other side. “That would be with your magic, right?”

“I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“How about you show me some of this magic, then I’ll know you’re telling the truth.” Again with the smug look towards the mirror.

“It’s not working.”

“Ah yes, now that’s because you travelled through time and broke it. And you haven’t brought anything with you to prove you’re from the future because you came through naked and had to steal Mr Pendragon’s clothes. That’s right, yes?”

Merlin didn’t say anything. He knew what it sounded like, and without his magic he was helpless. The precious crystals that were boosting what little skill he had left were sitting on the table in front of Aredian. There was no chance of Merlin reaching them, not with his hands still cuffed behind his back.

“So, with no magic and no proof at all, you expect us to believe your frankly insane story and release Mr Pendragon to you so that you can go back onto the M4 and actually succeed in killing him this time?”

“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me. But you know Mordred’s out there, you know he tried to kill us.”

“We know you stole a car, kidnapped Mr Pendragon, took him on a pretty much suicidal joyride and are probably involved in the murders of six people. Add to that illegal possession of a firearm, which Mr Pendragon says you used against your accomplice.”

“Mordred’s not my accomplice,” Merlin protested, but he was ignored.

“What do you think, Mr Emrys, are the chances that we’re going to release you and let you out of here? Oh, and let you take Mr Pendragon with you? Good odds? No?”

He was still looking amused. Merlin tugged uselessly against the cuffs holding him. “We’ve been here hours, we’re wasting time,” he snarled. “Let me see Arthur!” He stood up, and turned towards the mirror behind him, knowing there would be people on the other side, observing him. “You’re all fools! He’ll die, you’ll all die and you could’ve stopped it! Let me out! Let me go, now!”

He was immediately restrained and dragged kicking and yelling back into the chair by a couple of security guards.

Aredian turned away from him, facing the hidden observers on the other side of the mirror.

“This is fantastic, in both senses. You see how clever it is? It doesn’t require any proof, any evidence to back it up. I could write a book on this guy!” He walked back round to stand on the other side of the table again, facing Merlin. “You’re not denying a word of it, are you? Well, we’ll do a full psychiatric evaluation in the morning when we’ve got the blood tests back, see what you’ve been taking. We’ll have your friend by then, hopefully. They’re calling in the CCTV footage right now. You could just confess, make it easier on yourself. Not guilty through insanity isn’t really going to happen, you know? You’ll get a sentence anyway, you’ll just spend it in a straightjacket, bouncing off the walls.”

Aredian, Merlin thought, didn’t seem to have got the memo on political correctness. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting Arthur out before Mordred found them.

“Let me see Arthur,” he repeated, trying to reign in his temper. He couldn’t have them sedate him, not now. They’d threatened it earlier, it was the only thing that had forced him to stay calm. Aredian would probably do it anyway, soon enough.

“Now you know that’s not going to happen,” Aredian told him. He looked up at the observers again. “Enough for one night, I’m not getting anything here. Lock him up, we’ll try again in the morning.”

He stood at the door, waiting for it to be unlocked. Merlin watched him go, then looked up at the two guards. Without his magic, and with the two crystals unobtainable whilst his hands were bound, he wasn’t sure just how he could get out of this. And the clock was ticking.

 

Arthur picked at the sandwich Tristan had brought him. He wasn’t really hungry, not after everything that had happened. He felt tired, more than anything, though he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he had the chance. He kept thinking about the car journey, about Mordred coming at him with that sword, about the hate on Mordred’s face. There was the horrible underlying concern that Merlin might be right. But everyone was saying that Merlin was insane.

Tristan and Isolde were being kind enough to him though. She’d brought him a blanket, and another cup of tea. The tea was welcome, it seemed to help a bit.

“His sandwiches are pretty grim,” Isolde smiled. “I don’t blame you for not wanting it.”

“You love my sandwiches,” Tristan retorted, but she just shrugged.

“Maybe if I’m really hungry.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur assured them. “I’m just not hungry.”

“Why don’t you rest up for a while?” Tristan suggested. “There’s a room at the back, supposed to be a storeroom but doubles up as the sickroom so there’s a fold up bed in there. It’s pretty comfortable, I’ve used it a few times when we’ve been too busy to go home. It’s been a long night and I’ve got to see what the situation is on this Mordred fella.”

What he meant was that he had other things to do besides babysit Arthur, Arthur thought. He nodded. “That sounds good. I’m really tired.”

He let himself be led off to the little room. It was small and sparsely furnished, but it would do.

“Just call if you need anything, we won’t be far off,” Isolde told him.

The only thing Arthur needed, really, was to go to sleep, wake up in the morning and find it was all just a horrendous dream. But he doubted that was going to happen. Morgana’s words kept coming back to him, worrying at him. What if he really should trust Merlin? She was never wrong.

He curled up on the bed and pulled the blanket around himself. Perhaps things would be clearer after he’d slept.

 

Some nights were quieter than others.

Owain Davies was used to the Friday night shift. Some evenings there would be an endless parade of drunks through the doors, people who were mostly harmless but couldn’t handle their drink, or just didn’t know when to stop. They’d be in for a night, warned or sometimes charged, then gone. They were easy enough, though the cleaners hated them with a passion. There would be the slow but steady stream of people who couldn’t keep their fists to themselves once they’d had a drink or two, those were more problematic, noisy and vicious.

It hadn’t been a quiet night. Apart from anything else there had been the Camelot killings, the alleged murderer right there in his station, along with someone who had almost been another victim. He’d been fending off and redirecting enquiries from the press all night.

When the pale-skinned, dark-haired young man stepped through the door and walked up to the desk, Owain just knew this was going to be another reporter. There was something in the way he carried himself, a certain confidence, almost arrogant. He looked around the reception area, then walked up to the desk. Owain took a moment to complete the form he was still filling in on the last caller. It never hurt to show how busy you were.

“Let me see Arthur Pendragon.”

Evidently Owain’s busyness hadn’t been conveyed sufficiently well. He wrote another few words, then put the pen down and looked at the newcomer.

“And you are?”

“A friend.”

Owain doubted that. The man’s dark jacket was made of some sort of thick, expensive-looking fabric, nothing Owain was familiar with because Owain didn’t get paid that well. It was an annoyance, and Owain decided to take it out on the man by being difficult.

“Mr Pendragon,” he said importantly, “is helping us with our enquiries and can’t be disturbed.” He thought Pendragon was the blond man who had come through in handcuffs a few hours before, but he’d heard as well that he was one of the victims, the only surviving victim. All rumours. Nobody ever seemed to bother telling him anything, never mind that he was on the desk and had to deal with all the questions.

“I can help with your enquiries,” the man told him. “Let me in.”

There was something just a bit off about him, Owain thought. He thought he might add it to his report. Journalists liked to come in if they had the chance, though they were usually trickier, cleverer than this.

“Best if you come back in the morning,” Owain advised. “Here,” he put a form in the tray and slid it through to the man. “You can fill this in, if you really want to be helpful. That’ll speed things along in the morning.”

The man looked at it, but didn’t pick it up. Instead he glanced at the door that led into the centre. He could look all he wanted, Owain thought. A twenty tonne truck would have trouble getting through that. Some over-ambitious journalist would have no chance.

“I’ll be back,” the man told him, and walked out.

Owain supposed that he probably would. There would most likely be a steady stream of journalists looking for a story. They were all over the crash site, still, filming, asking questions, getting in the way. Still, perhaps it would be after Owain’s shift. He could hope.

The phone rang yet again, and Owain answered it. An officer on his way in with a couple of drunks, standard fare for the early hours of Saturday morning. As he made a note of the pending arrival, Owain looked up and saw the dark-haired man standing just outside the doors. He had his head bowed, his arms outstretched, and was chanting something.

Obviously he was a nutter. Owain wondered if he should call someone, get him moved on.

And then the whole of the reception section started to move rapidly, impossibly towards him. He didn’t even have time to scream.

 

Arthur had been dozing, unable to actually sleep with everything that was going through his mind. He wanted to ring his sister again, check she was okay. But it was 4 in the morning and if she’d managed to get off to sleep he didn’t want to disturb her. She’d sounded frightened, there was something in her voice that he hadn’t heard for years, not since she’d stopped having all the visions. If she really had stopped. Perhaps she’d been pretending all that time. And what if they were real?

The explosion, when it happened, shook the entire building. The bed moved away from the wall, and the plastic cup full of water had fallen off the shelf he’d put it on and spilled all over the floor. Arthur scrambled to his feet and rushed to the door. There was total chaos in the corridor and offices beyond. Tristan came running up the corridor, saw Arthur, and pointed at him.

“Arthur! Stay in there! Lock the door!”

It didn’t seem like a great idea. If the place was being blown up, which was what it sounded like, Arthur would rather have been outside. But he closed the door as ordered, and stood looking through the little window in it.

It appeared to be complete panic out there. At least they were in the new police centre, which was supposed to be heavily fortified. And, judging by the speed that the police were arming themselves, it presumably had a decent armoury. Arthur had never, ever been so much in favour of arming the police force. Tristan was already heading back down the corridor, gun in hand now. He could see Isolde carrying a rifle, her face grim and determined. They all seemed to be heading in the same direction, towards the entrance.

Arthur had a horrible feeling that Mordred had arrived. Suddenly, staying where he was seemed a very bad idea. He was enough of a target already, no need to be a sitting duck as well. He noticed that stuck to the back of the door was the mandatory map showing fire doors and ways out in an emergency. Arthur ripped it off the door and pocketed it. He opened the door, ran along the corridor in the opposite direction to everyone else, found an empty, unlit office and hid in there instead, crouching behind a desk.

Then he waited, taking a little time to look at the map and work out which was the best way out.

Or, perhaps, where he might find Merlin.

 

The police had taken their own sweet time getting Merlin to a cell. After Aredian, there had been an officer, Inspector Warwick he said he was, who had come in and asked more questions. It was all the same thing, over and over. They thought he was working with Mordred, they wanted to know about Mordred, about what he looked like, why he was killing people.

The trouble was, telling them what he looked like was going to be a fast way to get them all killed if they ran into him. Merlin tried cooperating, still asking to see Arthur. It was pointless, fruitless. Mordred was going to find them, kill Arthur and then that would be the end of it. Worse, as he seemed to be changing things there was a risk that Morgana might not vanish with Arthur. Given her past history, the takeover by dark magic might come even faster if she was the one leading it.

Just as Warwick was asking yet again where he got the gun from, Mordred struck. There was a huge explosion from elsewhere in the building and suddenly everyone was on their feet.

“Lock him in!” Warwick snarled, already at the door.

And then he was gone, both the guards gone with him. Merlin could hear the locks clicking into place. The door, the whole building was built to keep people in. The interrogation room was as good as a cell.

Except Aredian had been going through Merlin’s effects earlier. The gun was gone but the money, ID, even the car keys from his own abandoned and by now probably towed car were still there on a table to the side. And, most importantly, the precious crystals were there.

It wasn’t too difficult to reach them, half-sitting on the table and wriggling backwards until one was in his hand. And then his magic, boosted by the ancient relic, opened the handcuffs and released the locks, then he was free.

He prayed it wasn’t too late.

 

The worst thing was the screaming.

Arthur could hear it over the alarms and the gunfire and the shouting. Someone had been badly hurt and they were screaming their pain, over and over. He didn’t want to know who it was, hoped it wasn’t one of the officers who had been trying to help him.

He did know that he couldn’t stay hiding in that office for much longer. It felt cowardly, though there was nothing he could do to help the police. But the shouting and the gunfire seemed to be getting closer, and that didn’t bode well. For all that Tristan had claimed Mordred was high on something and just not feeling the wounds from Merlin’s gun, there was no way one man could walk through that many bullets. If it _was_ Mordred out there, and Arthur had a feeling it was, and Merlin was right about the protective magic then the police stood no chance. And Arthur needed to get out of there.

The trouble with the fire exit plan was that it just showed the layout of the building, no helpful labels as to where Merlin might be held. And even if Arthur found him, he was certain to be locked up with no easy way to release him.

There was another huge explosion somewhere in the building and the lights went off in the corridor outside, briefly plunging the building into darkness. It sounded closer than the first. Wherever it was, it had put a stop to the screaming. Arthur didn’t want to know if that was a good thing or not. He didn’t want to think about it at all.

The corridor outside the office he’d sheltered in was deserted. The emergency lighting was coming on, or most of it. One or two had either failed or been damaged by the explosions. Arthur could still hear the shouting, and the gunfire. He headed away from it, aiming for the emergency exit on the other side of the building. Everything looked different in the dim light, pools of shadow where everything had been so bright and sterile-looking before. He tried to tell himself that he was leaving the danger behind him, making an escape. But he rounded a corner and there was a figure further down the corridor, opening all the doors, looking inside, searching for something.

“Arthur? Arthur!”

Looking for him.

Arthur could have run, because he still wasn’t totally sure of Merlin. Morgana had vouched for him, but she’d been under the influence of those visions she had. But there was a laptop, still running under its own battery power, in the nearest office. Clearly visible was the scene elsewhere in the building. Mordred, being shot at by a policeman, the bullets simply bouncing off him now. And then the sight of that sword being swung in a wide arc, cutting the officer down where he stood. There were bodies visible behind him, and blood… blood everywhere. Arthur made his choice, because there wasn’t any other.

“Merlin! Mordred’s here!”

“I know, come on, we have to get out.”

“There’s an emergency exit,” Arthur told him, pushing past and leading the way. He wasn’t going to be rescued like some damsel in distress, no matter how far out of his depth he was now. “This way.”

There was a third explosion behind them. Arthur didn’t look back. The gunfire was continuing, but there seemed to be less of it now. He could still hear people yelling.

“There’s nothing you can do to help them?” Arthur checked.

“Nothing,” Merlin confirmed. “If I had my magic back, yes, but all we can do is run, save ourselves.”

They reached the fire door and pushed down the lock bar to open it. It set off another alarm, but with so many others going off in the building Arthur didn’t think it would make much difference. They seemed to have come out in a car park at the back of the building. There was a strong smell of smoke in the air, and the sound of gunshots and yelling was far louder.

“Head away from it,” Merlin advised. “Here.”

He grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him in the direction of two white cars. For a horrible moment Arthur thought he was in for another terror ride but Merlin went past them to the boundary hedge beyond.

“Hurry,” Merlin urged, half-pushing, half-climbing through it. The hedge was still fairly newly planted, and getting through it wasn’t difficult and they were soon through, in the grounds of what looked like some sort of warehouse. In the early hours of the morning that was in darkness. The lack of security lights or guards, or even a gate, indicated that it was probably not even in use.

Arthur risked a glance back. The battle was still going on at the police centre.

“How long before he notices we’ve gone?” Arthur asked. “Damn!” His phone had slipped out of his pocket and fallen on the grass. He reached to retrieve it. “Not broken. This thing cost a fortune and it’s brand new.”

“Turn it off.”

“What?”

“Turn it off. Quickly. He can track you.   I bet that’s how he located us so fast in the car.”

Arthur didn’t need telling again. He switched the phone off, then kept it in his hand as they ran. Over the uneven terrain the chances of it jostling free from his pocket again were high.

“Where are we going?” he panted.

“Away!”

That wasn’t very helpful. Arthur followed for a few hundred more metres, until they were out on the road, then asked again.

“Just away! We’ll worry about where later,” Merlin snapped.

The road led quite quickly to a roundabout and a far bigger road, one Arthur recognised. “We could get back to the city this way.”

“Yeah,” Merlin paused, looking around. “Ah! Quick!”

He grabbed Arthur’s arm again and dashed across the road, right in the path of a huge double-decker bus, waving his arms frantically. It screeched to a stop inches away from them. Arthur was sure that if Mordred didn’t kill him then Merlin was definitely going to.

Merlin gave the driver a huge grin, then started to make pleading gestures at him. The driver didn’t look happy but opened the doors for them.

“We’re taking a bus?” Arthur hissed. “Seriously? We’re on the run and taking a _bus_?”

“Shut up,” Merlin whispered back. “I’ve got an idea. Give me that phone.”

Arthur frowned, but handed it over. Merlin pocketed it and hopped on board, Arthur following.

“Hi, thanks for stopping, we nearly missed you! Bristol airport, two singles,” Merlin told the driver, who looked at them suspiciously.

“No luggage?”

“We work there. Our boss would’ve killed us if we were late again!”

The driver clearly didn’t believe them and Arthur didn’t blame him. Both of them were sporting cuts and bruises, and Merlin’s jacket had a rip in the sleeve. Arthur didn’t want to know what his own clothes looked like. But they didn’t appear drunk or high so the man just grunted and took their money, then drove on. Merlin immediately headed to an empty pair of seats on the lower deck. There were only a few other people on board, most of them looking fairly tired, although there were a couple of teenagers obviously on their way back from a night out. Arthur sat down next to Merlin, looking around anxiously. He expected to see Mordred coming after them at any moment.

“Really, Merlin, we’re going to trundle slowly through the countryside on this thing?” He looked around. It was the airport bus, he’d been stuck behind it a few times over the past few years. Gwaine loved it, it meant he could get back from Bristol at 5 in the morning without paying a fortune for a taxi. Arthur had never used it. He disliked public transport in all its forms, except taxis. Taxis were just fine. But then Arthur had a lot more money than Gwaine.

“Trust me,” Merlin told him.

Arthur wasn’t sure that he did, but it was better than the alternative. Or possibly not.

“Oh no, look, there’s someone getting on. With cases,” Arthur groaned. The bus was slowing down for a young couple who were flagging it down.   They had so much luggage Arthur wondered if they were emigrating.

“Perfect,” Merlin whispered. “Come on.”

The driver was getting out to help the couple. As soon as he was distracted, Merlin and Arthur sneaked off the bus, and ran down a nearby side street.

“What was the point of that?” Arthur growled, as soon as they were out of sight. “We’re not at the airport!”

“No,” Merlin agreed. “But your phone’s still heading that way!”

“What!” Arthur stared at him in horror, then back at the bus. “You left it on the bus?”

Merlin looked quite pleased with himself. “Yes. Slipped out of my pocket and those two kids grabbed it. Didn’t try to return it either. They’ll probably switch it on soon.”

“But it cost…” Arthur stopped, considering the consequences of it being turned back on. “Merlin! What about the people on that bus? That couple getting on had a little kid!”

“The phone thieves were talking, grumbling about two more stops or something. Hopefully they’ll be off before Mordred realises.”

“And if they aren’t?”

Merlin sighed. “I don’t like it either, Arthur. But they’ll die anyway. If I don’t save you, everything goes wrong, everyone dies.”

Yes, because despite everything, Merlin was a little bit insane. “I’m not King Arthur. You do know that, right?”

“I know who you are.”

“Right. Good.” Arthur paused, thinking about it. “And… who is that exactly?”

“You’re Arthur Pendragon. Rich, privileged, bit spoilt…”

“Oi!”

“And tomorrow you’ll be twenty and you won’t be questioning this any more. Now let’s go before those kids get off the bus.”

The teenagers didn’t deserve what was coming after them either, Arthur thought, sort-of thieves or not. But better them than the little toddler. He felt a bit sick. If this was really all down to him, how many lives were going to be on his conscience? Merlin seemed hardened to it, but it wasn’t something Arthur ever thought would be something he would have to deal with.

“What happens when I’m twenty? And where are we going?” he asked again.

“Away,” Merlin told him. Still unhelpful, not answering the other question. “We’re on borrowed time. We need to get my magic back, because otherwise, sooner or later, Mordred’s going to find us. Without my magic we’re as good as dead. Now come on.”

Arthur followed him down the street at a run. He thought perhaps he preferred the unhelpful response after all.

 

Mordred walked through the building, nobody left to stand in his way now.

Sometimes, the stupidity of people astounded him. Surely those police officers could tell they were beaten? Surely they could see he was protected, that their bullets were going to just bounce right off him? Still they had fought, every last one of them, until he had cut them all down. Clarent had been dripping with their blood and still they stood their ground, unable to comprehend that their weapons were so ineffective.  

Merlin had been here. There was barely any sense of his magic, because Merlin seemed to have exhausted that during his flight through time. Desperate, hopeless, and doomed to failure. But he was there in the records, footage of his interview with some idiot doctor. And there was footage of Arthur as well, being brought in, being interviewed. Arthur didn’t have a clue, even after meeting Merlin. He was just some rich kid, off at university on daddy’s money. The story of every single one of Arthur’s privileged lives. Or those Mordred knew about, anyway. No, Arthur was still completely ignorant of his past, of his heritage. He was going to be easy to take out.

They’d escaped of course. Merlin seemed to have some tiny magical skill remaining and that must have facilitated their release. There was a back door hanging open, but no sign of where they might have gone. They had probably taken one of the cars, he thought, vanished whilst he was distracted with the police.

They wouldn’t stay hidden long. Everything in that day and age was done via computer. If they wanted money, if they stayed anywhere, if Arthur tried to use his phone… everything was on a network somewhere. It was how his people had brought down this so-called civilisation. Too reliant on their records, they’d created their own vulnerability and the magic users had been able to take advantage. It was almost second nature to Mordred, to pick up on any sort of technology. And if Merlin found any way to increase his magical power to its normal level, that would make them a target too. Here, when there were hardly any magic users left, anyone using it would shine like a beacon to the others. Especially one with as unique a signature as Merlin. It wouldn’t take long to find them. He’d only missed their escape because it had taken so much effort to hold off the police officers. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Mordred took one of the cars, because there would be backup arriving at the station soon and it wasn’t as if the car’s owner would ever need it again. He drove out, past cars with screaming sirens blaring, lights flashing, no idea their quarry was passing them. And then he was out on the open road, just driving, waiting for a sign.

There was nothing at first. No sign of Merlin’s currently weak magic, no electronic trace of Arthur. And then, suddenly, there was the signal from Arthur’s phone. It wasn’t even going to be difficult, the idiot had even left the tracking on.

He turned the car around, heading towards the signal. The fools weren’t even trying to hide.

 

 

Arthur was tired of being a fugitive.

The sun had come up over the hills, and although the reds and pinks and yellows had been beautiful, Arthur didn’t appreciate it. He hated the idea of getting into another car with Merlin, and apparently there was some issue with Mordred being able to detect his magic if he used it to steal one, but Arthur was almost ready to risk that. Travelling on foot made him feel vulnerable, there was nothing there to protect him if they were attacked. Well, nothing except Merlin.

They were walking along a cycle path, following the railway. It was well out of sight of the road, and as safe as anywhere else. Along the way, Merlin had stayed quiet at first, listening out for any sign of Mordred, but when it seemed they had escaped him for the time being, he relaxed a little. Most of the time Merlin insisted that they ran, or at least jogged, but they were both tired and for short periods Merlin had given in to Arthur’s demands that they walked.

“So,” Arthur said once he’d got his breath back. “Are you going to tell me where we’re heading?”

“I need my magic back.”

“Yeah, so you keep saying. How? Are you going to pick up your magic wand, wave it around a bit and abracadabra! It’s back?”

Merlin gave him a faintly disgusted look. “I forgot how much of a prat you are.”

“Thank you. Well, I seem to have forgotten you completely. How about you fill me in? Start with the magic...”

“I need an ancient site.”

Arthur waved a hand in the direction of the city they were approaching. “Pretty old!”

“Not old enough. And too modern, too much has been done to it. I need the magic from the earth, an old site. So we’re going to Avebury, there’s a stone circle there.”

Arthur had been there before. Morgana had wanted to go when they were younger and their father had pandered to her. Arthur had trudged around after his sister while their father sat in the pub making business calls and working on his laptop. It had been a boring day. All those stones. “That’s miles away! You’re not suggesting we walk? Or worse, run?”

“We’ll get a train, then a taxi. How much cash have you got?”

Arthur shrugged. “About sixty quid, give or take. I could take more out.” It wasn’t as if his father left him short.

“No! He’ll be looking for anything like that and be onto us as soon as you use any sort of card. He’ll have pulled all your records up. Don’t use anything.”

“Well, have you got money?”

Merlin nodded. “Few hundred I took out earlier. We’ll have to be careful with it, he’ll have stripped the police records and have my details too. So I can’t take any more out either.”

“Until you’ve got your magic back.” Arthur tried to keep the scepticism out of his voice.

“I need my magic,” Merlin told him.   “I can’t defeat him without it, he’s too strong. His magic’s been enhanced and he’s just going to keep coming back until you’re dead, he won’t stop. Ever.”

Arthur still wasn’t entirely convinced. There was always going to be some small part of him that thought Merlin was insane. And yet there was something about Merlin as well, something that made Arthur trust him and want to believe in him. But he didn’t want to ask what was so important about himself, because he knew what Merlin thought the answer was, and that answer was definitely insane.

“They’ll stop us at the station. The police must be looking for us by now.”

“They’ll be looking for Mordred, he’s the one they’ll have footage of. An idiot dangerous driver and his passenger? Lower priority. By now he’s gone after those kids looking for your phone. The last place anyone is going to look is in the city centre. Like you said, who takes public transport if they’re running away? They’re probably at the airports looking out for us. Not the local train stations. We can get on at a smaller station, already be on the platform if we have to change trains at a major station so we don’t have to go through any barriers. Try to avoid any CCTV cameras too.”

“Okay,” Arthur sighed, though he still doubted the idea. “Avebury it is.”

 

Merlin had always been sneaky.

All those years of hiding, lying about who he was, what he was. He hadn’t changed. Mordred glanced at the crushed remains of Arthur’s phone, lying on the floor in front of the passenger seat of the car. He’d destroyed it in a fit of temper, and regretted it now because it could have been useful. He knew where Arthur’s family lived, but wasn’t so sure about his friends. Arthur could have gone to any of them, seeking shelter.

Merlin would know how to hide. He wouldn’t be using technology, and wouldn’t risk using what little magic he had until it was necessary. There was nobody better at hiding, he’d proved that time and again. Even with Arthur gone he’d fought, fighting against his own kind, trying to help the non-magicals survive. As if that was going to be allowed to happen, given the way they’d always persecuted anyone they thought might be a witch. Merlin himself had almost been burned at the stake countless times. Yet still he stuck with Arthur, or Arthur’s memory at least. Always working towards this, towards going back and saving him.

The two kids who’d had the phone knew nothing, they’d been so frightened that they couldn’t even agree where Arthur and Merlin had got off. And Merlin would already have made sure they’d gone to ground, he’d got no idea which way they might have gone. But they couldn’t stay hidden forever.

A loud whirring sound above him made him look up. There were helicopters, circling, looking for him. It was irritating. He waved his hand, brushing them away like the little insects they were, crushing them. For good measure he cast another spell, wiping any record of himself from all the police systems. It would take them a while to rebuild that, to come after him again. It gave him time to concentrate on what was important.

Arthur had a home, a family. At some point he was bound to make contact. That was the best place to go.

And Morgana would be there. He’d missed her so very much.

 

It was nearly noon by the time Merlin and Arthur reached the small Wiltshire town. The taxi driver had grumbled a bit at the distance until Merlin had handed over a twenty pound note “Just so you know we’re good for it.” After that, the man had been quite cheerful and chatty. Merlin knew they looked unwashed, unshaven and a little worse for wear. It wasn’t surprising the man was suspicious, probably thinking they were going to make him drive all that way then try to get out without paying. There was a long, long grumble about customers who tried to do that, then the man started telling them how much he liked taking his kids to Avebury when they were younger, and what a great pub there was, and was there some hippy festival on?

Merlin smiled and nodded and gave as little information as possible. It was unlikely Mordred would trace them until Merlin tried to regain his magic, but he wasn’t going to take any risks. Arthur, sitting beside him, said nothing. He was just staring out of the window, watching the countryside go by. He’d not said much since they’d boarded the first train, just followed Merlin’s lead. Not that there was an opportunity to talk as they had been constantly surrounded by other passengers.

“You’re quiet,” Merlin commented when the taxi had dropped them off and they were finally alone. “I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s all true. It’ll make sense soon, I promise.”

To be precise, it would start to make sense in the morning, when Arthur turned 20 and regained his memories of his past lives. When everything would merge into one long, long lifetime and Arthur would look at Merlin with love in his eyes. Merlin lived for that during the times without Arthur, knowing it would come again and again. Sometimes he had wondered if he’d been wrong about the spell, if he should have had Arthur remember earlier, younger. But it was impossible for a child to cope with adult memories, which was why Merlin had cast the spell in the first place, and the laws and restrictions on their love had made them both miserable in a time when they either had to wait or break the law.

They’d still been breaking the law down the centuries, but it was easier to run with an adult. There were too many close calls, and that one time Arthur was caught and imprisoned… but Merlin had freed him using his magic. They’d become very reliant on Merlin’s magic over the years.

He looked around at the huge, ancient stones, and hoped this would work. Everything was so contaminated now, so overrun by the temporary nature of buildings and possessions at that time. There was little room for magic in a world that wasn’t built to last.

“I’m worried about my family,” Arthur admitted. “Morgana sounded afraid. She sounded as if she was getting ill again. And what if Mordred goes there, looking for me? Leon’s there too. I ought to ring them again, warn them.”

“Leave it,” Merlin advised. “If you ring, and he’s there, you’ll make things worse. And he could trace you through the call.”

Arthur nodded, but didn’t say anything, just looked worried. Merlin tried to control the surge of anger he felt at that. It was Morgana again, influencing him, leading him towards his doom. But this Arthur wouldn’t be able to see that, all he would see was the sister he loved and fought with in equal measure. He would be more likely to leave Merlin, who was nothing to him. Nothing to him yet anyway.

“Leon was still with me, you know?” Merlin attempted, trying to think of something positive. “Him and Gwaine, they survived all this.”

“Really? You knew them? No, you said when we were walking… you said you come from a long way in the future. They’d be dead. Or ridiculously old.”

“The spell… well they all get reincarnated, you all did.”

“Did?”

“This death… Arthur if Mordred finds you, he’ll kill you and that’s the end of you. The others come back but you don’t. There’s a spell, they’d started using it. Gwaine and Leon… that would be the last time for them because when Mordred killed them he would have cast that spell on them and they wouldn’t have come back.”

“You just said they survived.”

“They did. But when I came back here, we were finished. I think Leon was already down, Gwaine was the one who blocked the way so I had time to escape. He died, right there in front of me. Brave to the last.”

“Gwaine… Well,” he could see Arthur thinking about it. “You must have the wrong man because Gwaine is just drunk to the last. He doesn’t care that much about anyone or anything.”

“You’re wrong. You don’t know him.”

“I think you’re the one who doesn’t know him, _Mer_ -lin. I’ve known him two years, he’s a good friend but he’s a party animal not a fighter.”

“Well I’ve known him for over a thousand years and right now you don’t know what you’re talking about. He didn’t remember you, because that’s all lost when you go, but he had faith in me anyway, so don’t stand there saying you know him because you don’t know _anything_!”

“A thousand years?”

Merlin nodded, seeing the scepticism in Arthur’s face. “Longer.”

“So you’re… what? A thousand years old?”

“Older.”

“Right. You’re fucking insane, Merlin. You know that, right? Completely insane. You are _not_ a thousand years old. I don’t even believe this crap about the future, I just know that as soon as you showed up things started getting weird, and now two of my friends are dead, another one is probably going to need therapy for the rest of his life, and my sister’s had a relapse when we thought that was all behind her!” Arthur had raised his voice, but they’d been dropped off at the side of one of the roads leading into the stone circle, away from the buildings. There was nobody to hear.

“Your sister!” Merlin spat. “Your sister’s as responsible for this as Mordred. I don’t even know what happened to you. She vanished too, at the same time. She was mixed up in your disappearance.”

“She said she saw it in a vision.”

“I bet she did! That’s what she and Mordred did to you, here, now. It’s the beginning of it. They killed the king and then picked off everyone else.”

Arthur closed his eyes as if the sight of Merlin was hurting him. “I’m not the king. I am not King Arthur. I’m not.”

Merlin knew he wasn’t getting through. And soon enough, Mordred would guess what they were trying to do. “Come on then,” he sighed. “Let’s do this. If I can prove to you that I have magic, will you at least consider believing me?”

“I’d like to see you conjure up a dragon,” Arthur snorted. “Then I’ll believe you.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, turning and walking across the grass, heading for the centre of the circle. “I suppose you would.”

 

 

Uther Pendragon.

It was a name Mordred hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Once Arthur had vanished, his father had become unimportant, meaningless. Doubtless the man had continued his existence, returned and lived yet another rich and privileged lifetime or two, but it had been beneath Mordred’s notice.

Uther had been the start of it all, back in the day. Uther had been the one to ban magic, to persecute sorcerers. Uther had killed Mordred’s family, his friends. In many ways he should have hated him more than he hated Arthur.

But Arthur had been supposed to be better. Arthur had been the one who was supposed to bring back magic. Arthur had been the one that Mordred had followed and been betrayed by. Arthur had been the one who ordered Kara’s death. Mordred had never found Kara again.

In many ways he was over Kara. She was so far in the past that she was just a distant, fond memory now. Morgana had been the one, over and over in so many lifetimes. Beautiful, strong, clever Morgana. She had always seemed so sad though, and he had never felt that he made her completely happy and he’d had proof of that once she’d started to push him away.

But Morgana was a seer, and that was always going to be her most powerful gift. It was likely that she foresaw her own destruction, and that was what caused the sadness. That, and the way she always got caught up with the Pendragons, forced to live out her youth in Uther’s house, at Arthur’s side. They always parted as soon as they learned the truth, of course. And that was Merlin’s doing, Merlin’s trickery. Interfering with things that he shouldn’t. That would stop, soon.

Uther, though, had a beautiful house. Huge, out in the countryside, surrounded by a high stone wall with what looked like an electric fence on the top. It was nothing to Mordred. Nor was the gate, with the two armed policemen. He swept the men aside as if they were nothing, and closed the gate behind him. If Arthur and Merlin followed him in later then there was no need to alert them.

There were only the two men providing security. Mordred was almost disappointed. He’d thought it would be more difficult. But he drove up the long drive and parked outside, unimpeded. The gravel crunched under his feet as he walked up to the front door, and he could hear a dog barking inside, then a man’s voice telling it to be quiet.

It was a simple matter to unlock the door, almost a childish level of use for his magic. There was an alarm, but he silenced that before it went off. Then he walked through the house, opening every door and looking inside.

There was something cold and sterile about it. Very few pictures and no ornaments at all adorned the place. There was one of Arthur and Morgana in the hallway, side by side not much younger than Arthur was now, smiling at the camera. Another of some blonde woman Mordred didn’t recognise. The other few were of children, presumably a younger Arthur and Morgana, and he paid them little heed. Morgana was every bit as beautiful as he remembered.

The house was huge, and for the most part empty. It was only when he opened a door at the end of the hallway that he found the dog that had been barking. It was a German shepherd, gazing up at him, instantly mesmerised. It didn’t bark again, instead going over to its basket and curling up to sleep.

There, at the other end of the room, his back to Mordred, was Uther Pendragon. It was some sort of dining room, large windows facing out onto the lawn. Uther was sitting there reading the paper, drinking tea and eating toast. His laptop was open on the table beside him, he’d been looking at share prices. Money and power. The man didn’t change.

“Uther.”

The older man twisted in his chair, startled. “I thought you people said you were staying outside. How did you get in?”

Of course, he would think it was one of the police sent to protect him. Mordred gave a small, tight smile.

“I let myself in. Where is Arthur?”

Uther, to give him his due, didn’t show any fear. But Mordred could see in his face that he’d realised he wasn’t dealing with anyone sent to protect him.

“Who the hell are you?” Uther got to his feet, and Mordred didn’t miss the quick glances to the window, obviously hoping for help that wouldn’t come.

“I asked first. Where is Arthur?”

“I don’t know. And if you think I would ever tell you if I did, you’re gravely mistaken. Now get out of my house.”

Mordred drew Clarent from its scabbard, raising it up so that Uther could see.

The man’s eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed, hard and determined.

“You’ve got a sword!” he yelled, loudly, obviously trying to alert anyone else in the house to the danger. “Get away from me! Get out of this house! You’re the one who’s trying to kill Arthur! Get out!” Mordred knew he wasn’t the one Uther was yelling at, not really. “Get out! Get…”

Mordred sliced down, around in a clean arc, cutting through the jugular, both silencing and killing him. But the damage was done. The shouting, as Uther must have intended, would have echoed through the house. Anyone else who was there would have heard and known what was happening. If Arthur was hiding here he would have been alerted.

Mordred doubted Arthur was there, Merlin would never have taken him anywhere so obvious. But he had heard a thud from upstairs. There was somebody else in the house and Uther had been trying to protect them, to warn them.

The dog slept on in its basket as Mordred passed, oblivious to all that had taken place. Upstairs, Mordred could hear a door closing, footsteps moving towards the stairs. They were too light and graceful to be Arthur. He ran to the foot of the stairs, knowing who it would be but wanting to see for himself.

“Morgana.”

She was every bit as beautiful and perfect as he remembered, her long dark hair cascading down over her shoulders as she carefully walked down the stairs towards him.

“Mordred.” She stopped, a few steps from the bottom, regarding his sword. Belatedly Mordred realised Clarent was still red from Uther’s blood. “What have you done?”

“Disposed of Uther Pendragon. As he would have disposed of us.”

Morgana actually looked a little sad at that, flinched even. She descended the last few steps. “I heard the shouting.”

“He was trying to warn you. As if I would ever harm you.”

For a moment she looked at him with such hurt and sorrow that he thought perhaps she had forgotten him, that she thought he actually might. He would never hurt her. Then she shook her head.

“He never remembered, you know? Not Uther. He wasn’t part of Merlin’s spell. You’ve just killed a man for no reason.”

“There were many reasons,” Mordred protested. “And now for Arthur. Is he upstairs?”

“No.”

That was, Mordred thought, a little too quick. There was something up there, something she was hiding. “You wouldn’t keep something from me, Morgana? Not from me?”

“Leon,” she sighed. “He found Gwen and Lancelot after you killed them. He’s sleeping, leave him. Or did you want to kill another blameless person?”

Leon was hardly blameless. He’d led the resistance, taken Arthur’s place. He’d stood there on the last day, fighting to the end. Mordred himself had taken him down. And there were other reasons why Mordred had no time for Leon.

“Didn’t he marry you once, centuries ago, you were childhood sweethearts? Then he left you when he remembered what you were, what he was? Don’t you want to hurt him for that? I remember how upset you were when you came to me then. I could make him suffer for you, Morgana. Pay him back for his cruelty.”

“They all follow Arthur,” she sighed. “Arthur and Merlin. There was never a chance. Leave him, Mordred. You’re not here for Leon, are you? We can deal with him later. Besides, he’s already suffering. I had to use a spell to get him to sleep. Leaving him alive isn’t the kindest option right now.”

“You have your magic?”

“A little. Enough for that.”

Leon was unimportant in the scheme of things. Morgana, though, she would be magnificent in the new regime. They were together again, and this time would never be parted. And she already had her magic. He took a step towards her, holding out his hand to help her down the last stair, respecting her like the glorious lady she was. She hesitated, then took it, still looking at his bloodied sword. She didn’t seem able to take her eyes off it.

“I’ll clean it,” he promised. “But first, where is Arthur? He called you, earlier.”

“I don’t know where he is. Merlin’s with him. But you must know that.”

“Yes. I followed him and he led me back here, to you.” He held onto her hand, not wanting to let go. Morgana, he noticed, glanced towards the closed door, the one leading to the room where Uther lay.

“We should leave,” she said. It almost sounded sad. “There are police guarding us. They’ll soon notice something’s wrong.”

“Those men aren’t a problem any more.” He felt her tense just a little, then relax. She was always more sensitive than she liked to make out. He smiled at her. “We should stay. Arthur’s going to call you or Uther at some point.”

“More police will come.”

“Let them. They’re nothing. Morgana, do you even know who I am, where I’ve come from?”

Those beautiful green eyes gazed at him sadly. “Yes, Mordred. I know. I’ve seen.” She paused, then added, softly. “I’ve seen _everything._ ”

It could only bode well. This time she would live. This time he would keep her. This time the future was going to be even more glorious.

He wondered why she looked so sorrowful about it.

 

Obviously, Merlin was insane.

He’d claimed that he needed time to prepare for the spell, so Arthur had wandered over to the tourist shops and cafes to get some food. He leaned against one of the stones, chewing on a ham sandwich and swigging a can of coke, watching Merlin.

The problem with Merlin, now that Arthur had time to stop and just look, was that he was just too attractive. There was something about him that drew Arthur to him. It wasn’t the insanity, or the obvious deathwish and maniacal driving. But he was perfect, all dark hair and blue eyes and striking cheekbones you could probably cut glass with. And so intense with it. Even sitting there cross-legged in the middle of the stone circle and communing with nature or whatever he thought he was doing, there was still that intensity.

“I still want that dragon!” Arthur called over, feeling a bit brighter now that he’d fed. Merlin looked up and glared at him, then closed his eyes again and went back to the meditating. He’d been sitting there for well over an hour.

The sandwich was pretty good. Arthur had picked up a couple more and a few chocolate bars too, because Merlin had to be hungry as well, and who knew when they’d next have a chance to eat?

It could be the last thing they ever ate, he realised, unwrapping a Mars bar. If Mordred caught up with them they wouldn’t stand much of a chance. They’d been lucky so far, but if all those police couldn’t stop him then Arthur and the trippy hippy over there weren’t likely to succeed.

There was no sign of Mordred yet. Arthur wondered if he could risk calling home. There had to be someone who’d let him borrow their phone amongst the tourists who were starting to mill around. Or perhaps there was a phone in the pub or something. He was worried about his father and sister. If Mordred hadn’t come after him, perhaps he’d targeted them instead. Merlin got angry when he’d mentioned Morgana so Arthur wasn’t going to mention her again if he could help it.

Perhaps he was a rejected boyfriend. Perhaps Mordred was. Morgana wasn’t always the most considerate of people. Still, she was his sister and Arthur was worried.

“Are you done yet?” he called to Merlin. Merlin ignored him. He looked as if he were concentrating quite hard.

Arthur missed his phone already. There was no way to tell what was happening in the world. They might well be all over the news by now. He considered heading for the pub, but it was unlikely to have a TV screen on. Too much of a tourist spot to cater for the sporting crowd. He fidgeted, watching people walking past, seeing them looking at Merlin. One or two were smirking, obviously thinking he was trying to commune with nature or something. They didn’t look as though they’d recognised a famous fugitive. Perhaps pictures hadn’t been released yet.

It was taking a long time. Arthur glanced at his watch. It was nearly two hours since they’d arrived, and Merlin had been sitting there for most of that time. People were constantly walking past, taking photos of themselves with the stones. It was probably the busiest time of the day.

Finally, Merlin opened his eyes. He looked frustrated, downcast, and Arthur hurried over.

“It hasn’t worked,” Merlin told him.

That wasn’t entirely a surprise to Arthur. He would probably have been more surprised if Merlin had said that it did work.

“You could try again?” he suggested.

“No time,” Merlin was getting to his feet. His jeans were stained dark from the wet grass. “Mordred will have sensed my magic, he knows where we are. We have to get away from here before he finds us. Come on.”

Arthur followed, a little reluctantly as Merlin broke into a run and jogged across the grass. He looked to be heading in the direction of the car park.

After his last experience of Merlin’s driving, Arthur really hoped there was a taxi rank just outside the car park and they weren’t heading for another terror ride. He knew it was probably a very faint hope.                    

 

Mordred didn’t feel entirely comfortable in Uther’s house.

For one thing there was the man supposedly asleep upstairs. Leon would wake eventually, and then there would be bloodshed. Morgana seemed to be averse to simply killing him, though, claiming she wanted revenge later for the way he’d treated her in the past. Mordred didn’t know all of the details. There would be time for that later. There would be time for everything later. Still, Mordred would have liked to finish him now.

He’d wiped all police records of himself, and of Merlin and Arthur now too. There were no records of who had committed the massacre at the police holding centre. Nobody would come looking for them, not yet anyway. He needed all communication channels to be clear of any mention of either of them, and while the police tried to sort out that huge mystery they would be. He didn’t want his search for his quarry cluttered by endless news reports, which was bound to happen. As it was, there was nothing. Footage of the station was being played over and over. His killings from the previous day were almost forgotten in the enormity of it. By the time they started looking for the owner of the flat where Lancelot and Gwen died, Mordred would have found Arthur and Merlin and finished them.

Morgana was sitting on the sofa, tense and alert, watching him warily. It wasn’t the glorious reunion that he had hoped for. Even when he’d told her about the future, about the way the magic users had risen up after Arthur’s death and taken over, still she didn’t appear to be happy and excited. And he had caught her glancing once or twice towards the dining room where Uther still lay. Mordred had cleaned the blood away on her insistence, a simple sweep of magic saw to that, and then Morgana had covered the body with a sheet. She’d seemed upset, and that was odd because Morgana had always hated Uther even more than she hated Merlin and Arthur.

“He thought I was in danger and he tried to warn me,” she had explained. “Uther… _this_ Uther, he was good to me.”

“Nobody changes, not really,” Mordred had told her, but she’d just gazed at him sadly and not replied.

The silence weighed heavy in the room. Morgana had given him her own mobile, and Leon’s. Mordred had located Uther’s. Arthur might contact any of them, at any time. He wouldn’t just abandon them, that wasn’t Arthur’s way. Nobody ever really changed.

For want of something to do, Mordred circled the room, looking at the photos. A picture from Uther and Ygraine’s wedding, Arthur and Morgana in various stages of their childhood.   An older couple he didn’t recognise, with a boy who might have been Uther. It was bizarre, homely. Not what he would expect from Uther. He picked up the photo of a smiling Morgana sitting on what might have been that same sofa, carefully holding her new baby brother. She couldn’t have been more than five or six.

“What happened to your mother?” Mordred asked.

Morgana shrugged. “She ran off with Da… _Uther’s_ business partner. We never saw her again, but Uther met Ygraine and remarried. Ygraine was always kind to me.”

The photo disturbed him. They all did. He turned to the books instead, rows and rows of them lining the walls. There was a whole shelf of books on animal care. Mordred picked one up and flicked through it.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Was Uther thinking of setting up a farm or something?”

“They’re mine,” Morgana told him. “I’ve been studying animal care. I’ve got a summer placement then I’m starting a course in the autumn.”

“Animal care? Why?”

“Why not? I like animals. I’m hoping to specialise in reptiles.”

“Dragons,” he sighed, understanding.

“There aren’t any left. But yes. I couldn’t care for Aithusa like I wanted to. I’d like to learn. I don’t want to be helpless.”

“But you have your magic.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap, then back up at him. “It’s not strong. I wanted…” she paused, looking down again. “I wanted to break Merlin’s spell. The one he cast on Arthur and the knights. Somehow, when he made them all come back time after time, he made me come back too. And I couldn’t remember anything until Arthur did, time after time. I’d grow up with them, I’d know them, care about them.”

He caught the brief glance upstairs again. He really wanted to go up there and cut Leon’s throat for abandoning her like that. What kind of man chose his friend over his wife?

“Leon.”

“Yes. I didn’t want that to happen again. So I managed a spell to make myself remember earlier. It comes on with puberty, gradually. It makes itself known through dreams, visions.”

There, finally he was seeing Morgana. He hurried over to sit beside her, take her hand. “You were always a powerful seer. That hasn’t changed.”

“No. It’s my curse.”

“Gift. It’s your gift,” he squeezed her hand gently. She gazed at him, her huge green eyes still so sad.

“It’s terrifying, as a teenager. Everyone thought I was going mad. They always think it, every lifetime.”

“Nobody would understand,” Mordred told her. “You needed someone with magic. Someone who cared for you. And nobody would dare come near, not with Merlin always around watching over Arthur.”

She nodded. “He’s never far. What did you do to him, the one from this time?”

“Nimueh had a spell to bind him. She taught it to me. It won’t hold him forever, but he’d grown weak, complacent. It was easy to take him as he left his home. He’s caught in between the worlds right now. He’ll find a way out, he always does. But it’s going to be too late. We know it will because all this was meant to happen, it happened before. And you know what the irony is?”

“It was Merlin’s own spell that allowed you to travel back and do this?”

“Exactly! Though I don’t understand how it happened the very first time, if Merlin created it to travel back and try to save Arthur.”

“Nimueh, perhaps? If she’d lost, if Nimueh’s preferred kind of magic was fading from the world, perhaps she created her own spell and sent someone back?”

There was never any perhaps with Morgana. She would know the truth. “You saw that.” It wasn’t a question.

“I see everything,” she breathed. “All the futures, all the past. Everything that has ever been.”

There were the books, her hopes for this lifetime. “And you want to look after sick animals?” he spat, disgusted at the waste.

“Yes,” she said simply.

He would have argued further, but suddenly, blazing like a beacon across the earth, there it was, the signal he’d been waiting for. Finally there was Merlin’s magic. He hadn’t been able to sense it before because it was too weak, but now every time Merlin used it Mordred would be able to find him. There were no other strong magic users out there. It would be too easy. He got to his feet, and held out his hand to her again.

“Merlin is trying to restore his magic. We need to go.”

For a moment he thought she was going to refuse and insist on staying. But she got to her feet and stood at his side, as she had so long ago.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I want to be there. I really do.”

 

There was no taxi rank.

Merlin had run straight to the main carpark and headed for a fairly new Audi near the entrance. Arthur regarded it sceptically.

“It’ll have an immobiliser fitted,” he warned.

Merlin shrugged, and opened the door. It must have been left unlocked, Arthur thought. But the owners were nowhere in sight, and usually cars locked themselves after a few minutes.

“Get in,” Merlin told him.

“You haven’t got a key.” But then, he hadn’t had one last time and that hadn’t made any difference.

Merlin frowned at him, then very deliberately raised his hand so that it was above the ignition. Arthur saw it turn as if there were a key in it, and heard the engine purr into life. When he looked back at Merlin, his eyes were glowing a molten gold.

“Get in the car,” Merlin said again, and this time Arthur didn’t argue, running round to the passenger side and climbing in.

Arthur had barely closed the door before Merlin sped off, heading out of the village as fast as possible.

“That was you doing magic?” Arthur queried, struggling to get his seatbelt on. He knew the answer, just wanted to hear it for himself.

“Yes.”

“I thought you said it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t, not really. I got some back but it’s not enough to fight Mordred. I have to get it all back. I can’t protect you without it.”

It was still hard to take in, even having seen the evidence with his own eyes.

“You really do have magic?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin sighed. “I really do. Usually there’s more than this, but the time travel spell was huge, it’s drained me.”

Time travel. Arthur still didn’t want to believe that. But if they were driving along now, in someone else’s car, one Merlin had stolen without using any sort of technology and was now driving without a key… Magic was starting to look as if it were real. And if the magic were real, then the time travel could be. And if those things could be real, then the other stuff, the things Merlin was saying about Arthur, those could be true as well.

“Will… will it just come back eventually?” Arthur asked tentatively. “I mean, if you’ve always had it, it’s going to return, right?”

“I don’t know. This happened once before, right before you… right before something bad happened. I got it back but it was too late. I can’t have that happen again.”

Merlin looked so haunted when he said it that Arthur didn’t have it in him to ask what. He had a feeling that he already knew. It was something to do with him, something had happened to him. Merlin adored him, that much was obvious. It gave him an odd sense of power, but it felt precious, like something he should keep close and protect.

“So what can we do?” he asked instead.

“Well, I still need to go back to the earth, sort of recharge.”

“What, you mean die?”

“No!” Merlin shook his head impatiently, his eyes on the road. “I need another ancient site, somewhere with magic, somewhere with history.”

“Like Stonehenge?”

Merlin gave a little laugh. “Ah, you’ve heard that story?”

Arthur hadn’t heard anything. “Everyone’s heard of Stonehenge. What story?”

“Well,” Merlin gave a little shrug. “There’s this thing in some of the legends about King Arthur… Merlin’s supposed to have moved the stones from Ireland to their current place at Stonehenge.”

“Did you?” Arthur asked, interested despite himself. But if Merlin said that he had, Arthur didn’t think he was actually going to believe him.

“Of course not. They go back further than me. And Stonehenge is useless now, it’s been moved around and messed about with too many times. Not by me. Most of the stones are held in place with concrete. There’s not going to be much magic left.”

“Avebury was old,” Arthur pointed out.

“Avebury didn’t work because all those stones were buried a few hundred years ago, then dug up and supposedly restored. And half the circle’s missing. They’re both too famous, too touristy. Everything has been handled too much. No, I was thinking of somewhere else, another circle, less well known. A complete circle, not broken like this one. Somewhere that has the magic still there in the earth. We could go there and I can try again, I think that might work.”

“I thought Stonehenge was supposed to be the best one,” Arthur offered. Morgana had always liked it. Arthur could remember being bored as a boy, taken on trips where they couldn’t get near the stones.

Merlin shook his head. “They’ve all been moved, Arthur. With most of these circles, what you see today is nothing like the original ancient site. You’ll see. When you remember, you’ll know it’s true.”

They were out on a main road now. Arthur couldn’t tell where they were going, though there were signs saying Swindon. Hardly the most historical spot in the country.

“Where are we going?” Arthur asked. “Which circle? There isn’t one at Swindon.”

“I know that, Arthur,” Merlin told him. “Obviously that’s not where we’re going.”

“So?”

“I’m thinking of the Rollright Stones.”

“The what?”

“The Rollright stones. The king and his men, and the Whispering Knights.”

It was a new one on Arthur. “Never heard of them. Are they the ones that you really did move instead?”

“They’re in a field in the middle of nowhere. You probably wouldn’t have heard of them.”

Merlin hadn’t denied moving them though, Arthur noticed. “You’ve been there though, you’ve done something to them?”

“I haven’t moved them. That was just a story. But these were just perfect. There was the King Stone, and the five knights. You were gone, Arthur. You didn’t come back and I couldn’t stand it. So I changed things. I made it so that you were with me. When I couldn’t bear waiting for you any longer, that was the circle I used to cast the spell to make sure you all always came back together, lifetime after lifetime. And now you all do. You, Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan and Gwen. Don’t you remember, when you first met them, how easily you all became friends? How right it felt?”

“Like I’d known them all my life,” Arthur admitted.

Merlin nodded, understanding. “And you have. It’s a bonding spell. There’s a complete circle there, more or less. Stronger than Avebury. Much stronger. And it’s funny, the legends associated with it think the five knights are leaning together, conspiring against the king.”

“If it’s those five they’re probably carrying Gwaine out of the pub!” Arthur laughed, then remembered he was supposed to be sceptical about all this. He wasn’t King Arthur. He absolutely wasn’t. But they’d stopped at traffic lights and Merlin was smiling delightedly at him, just because he’d gone along with it. And that wasn’t attractive. He absolutely was not going to find this nutter who thought he was from the future attractive. “If it was them, obviously.” He watched Merlin’s face fall slightly.

“You’ll see. But the King’s Stone there... if anything happens to me, Arthur, you need to get there. Go to the stone.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see when you get there.”

“If there’s a sword sticking out of it…” Arthur grinned, but Merlin wasn’t laughing.

“You’re always such a prat, aren’t you?” he muttered. “Every single time.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the once and future king?” Arthur retorted.

“You are.” The lights had changed and the car behind gave a sharp blast of his horn because they hadn’t moved. Merlin put the car into gear, moving forward. “But you were a prat back then, too.”

Mordred stood in the car park glaring at the little yellow mini that was in the spot where Merlin had last used his magic. There was no sense of any sort of magic around the little car, but there was a faint trace of it on the ground. They had already followed it to the stones and found a stronger concentration of it there.

“They took a car,” Mordred decided. “He could risk the magic use because he knew I’d sense him at the stones.”

Morgana was crouching down, touching the tarmac. “I can’t sense anything,” she told him, puzzled. “How can you tell they were here? You can’t smell magic.”

She was wrong, but then it had been a skill they’d developed long after her time. The magical creatures that the resistance had referred to as wolves, though they were no such thing. They had been created to sniff out rogue magic users, ones who were still trying to help the non-magicals. It was Mordred who had developed those, and he was proud of them. They’d helped find so many traitors. He’d had them finely-tuned to seek out Merlin’s unique, brilliant scent and as a result he knew it himself every bit as well as they did. Even weakened like it was now, he could still recognise it. The trail wasn’t strong enough to follow, faded away on the breeze, but Mordred knew he would catch it again.

“I wonder what they were doing here,” Morgana mused. “Why risk it, just to steal a car?”

Mordred knew exactly what Merlin had been doing, and what it meant. “Going back through time weakened Merlin’s magic,” he explained.

“I know, you already told me.”

“Mmm. Well, he’s obviously trying to find a way to get it back. He’ll be looking for ancient sites, trying to find one that’s going to charge him right back up again.”

“And you need to find him first,” Morgana pointed out. “He’s too strong for you otherwise.”

“No. Nimueh boosted my magic before I came back. I’m stronger than Merlin now.” He caught the sharp glance she gave him, just for a moment before her face softened.

“Oh Mordred, you can’t believe that. Nobody is stronger than Merlin. He’s immortal.”

It sounded as if she’d given up fighting him. That wasn’t the Morgana he remembered.

“No,” he told her. “There’s a way. The spell we have, the one that wipes people from the earth if we want them gone, Nimueh and I adapted it. With the power I have, I could do it. I could take Merlin out too. Both of them in one go. Can’t you see that? Isn’t one of your visions showing you that?”

He couldn’t see her face because her head was bowed, looking at the dirt she was wiping from her jeans as she stood up. “I see so many different futures, Mordred.”

“I would have thought you’d be glad to see the back of Merlin after everything he’s done to you.”

She nodded, and it was the first time he really thought she agreed with him. “I have no love for that man. If you wiped him from the earth, I can’t say that I would be sorry. But he loves Arthur. He’d do anything to protect Arthur.”

“I’ll destroy him for you,” Mordred promised. “I would do anything to protect you, too.”

He saw her expression change, looking at him wonderingly at those words.

“We could just live out a quiet life, you know, Mordred? No need for this at all.”

“Helping sick animals?” He still couldn’t get over that.

“Perhaps. Better than going up against Merlin, getting ourselves killed.”

“We won’t be the ones getting killed, not this time.”

Behind them a couple were walking in their direction, arguing loudly about where they thought they’d left their car.  

“Time to go,” Mordred advised, and they both walked back to Morgana’s car before the couple realised that their car had been stolen and someone started asking questions.

“Where to?”

It could be anywhere. “Stonehenge is too obvious.”

“Stanton Drew?” She unlocked the car and got in. “One of the Welsh circles? Dartmoor? There are a lot on Dartmoor. That’s where I’d go if I was Merlin.”

It sounded like a good place to start. A long way back if it was wrong. He got in beside her and closed the door.

“Did you see it? A vision, I mean? Did you see them on Dartmoor?”

She paused, her hand on the ignition key, obviously thinking hard. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “It was a wide open space, and there was a single stone. It looked like a moor. I don’t know if it was Dartmoor, there are plenty of other places. But wherever it was, I know that’s where it all ends.”

The end was all Mordred wanted. The end, and a new beginning.

 

Merlin had driven them the long way round, up through the Cotswolds, almost as far as Warwick and then back down again. Almost all of the journey was down B roads at best, often it was narrow country lanes. All of it was as far away from any sort of CCTV as possible. It took hours, and the car was almost out of petrol when Merlin took them off the road and down into woodland remote enough that the chances of it being found quickly were slim. He stalled it deliberately, knowing that was the only way to stop it without using his magic. That, or crash it into a tree. As it was, the owners would get it back undamaged, hopefully.

“What now?” Arthur asked as they headed back towards the road.

“Now we walk,” Merlin told him.

Arthur pulled a face at that. Merlin could see how tired he was, Merlin was tired enough himself and he could normally go for days without sleeping if he needed to. In the world he’d come from he often needed to do that.

“How do you even know which way to go, out here?”

Merlin knew. He could feel the ancient site calling to him, he didn’t need to use his magic for that. It had been so long since he’d last been there, but the memory was strong.

“I know.”

Arthur sighed heavily, trudging along beside him. “And what if this one’s no good? Where next? We can’t run forever.”

“This will work,” Merlin told him. He hoped he sounded confident. “This one’s different, it’s infused with my magic. It will know me.”

Arthur snorted, and Merlin fought the urge to snap at him for being so sceptical, even in the face of the evidence. Arthur had never been willing to believe at first, and on the rare lifetimes when he met Merlin before remembering his past lives, he was always unfailingly sceptical.

They stayed off the roads, mostly, walking across fields, staying out of sight. It was the longer way, but Merlin wouldn’t risk anything else. They had put the radio on in the car and listened to the news. Over and over again the massacre at the police station came on, but the news claimed there were no leads. Gradually it became clear that Mordred had done something to keep them all out of it. Merlin had no doubts as to why. The news, if it were full of them, would have created a smokescreen, clogging up the technology that Mordred would be searching through in an attempt to find them. Now if they showed up on camera it would be through a slip, through CCTV or through a careless phone call, accessing the internet, using their real names. They had to be careful, but at least they didn’t have to hide from every passer-by.

Arthur had gone quiet as they walked, Merlin noticed. He was looking around, taking in the scenery. If anybody saw them, they would think it was just two young men out for a late afternoon walk.

“I’ve never been here before,” Arthur said eventually.

“No.” Merlin didn’t think that he had. He couldn’t remember ever coming here with Arthur.

“It feels familiar though. The rolling hills, the open fields. It feels as if… I don’t know. I feel like I belong here.”

“Because of who you are. And tomorrow it’s your twentieth birthday, you’ll remember everything. It’s probably starting already.”

Arthur frowned at that. “You’ve said that before. What do you mean by it? Why is being twenty so important?”

Merlin shrugged. “It was the age we both agreed on. It’s easier to remember as an adult than as a child. It’s confusing for a child, makes them stand out, be different. It frightens the parents. Not so very long ago it would have led to accusations of sorcery and got you killed. So I cast a spell that doesn’t allow you to remember until your twentieth birthday. It’s never been a problem before. It was easier in many ways. The laws… The way we were, it was a problem. Twenty was safer. We could leave together, hide. A sixteen year old would have been searched for. And it gives you a little time to be yourself, live your own life.”

He could see Arthur thinking about it, his face set in a steady frown. “The way we were. What were we to each other, Merlin? You haven’t told me anything about that.”

“You’ll know, tomorrow. That’s enough.”

“And if I don’t make it to tomorrow. I’d like to know.”

Merlin sighed. “We’re lovers,” he admitted. “You have no idea what that was like in the past. These days it’s easier, but there were too many close calls.” He paused, feeling Arthur’s gaze on him. He didn’t want to look round and see whatever emotion was playing across his lover’s face. This wasn’t Arthur, not yet. And at the same time it was, because he was in there.

“You say we are, as if it’s current. But I’d gone… I wasn’t with you.”

“That’s right.”

Merlin walked on ahead, not wanting to continue the conversation. It was too raw with Arthur right there, not understanding. Or, perhaps, understanding too much.

Only a few hours. Just a few hours and he’d get Arthur back. Hopefully he’d get his magic back too. He had to, or all would be lost.

 

 

It was early evening before Merlin led them into a small village not too far from the stones. Long Compton, it was called. It wasn’t somewhere Arthur had ever heard of. Small and quaint, it appeared to consist of a main street with a few pubs and shops, and not a lot else.

Arthur was tired. His feet hurt, and he was hungry. Merlin seemed to be able to keep going through anything, and Arthur hated to be beaten. But he thought that this time, perhaps he would have to give in.

“How much further?” he complained, as they walked past one of the pubs. It was advertising food and Arthur’s stomach was rumbling.

“About an hour,” Merlin replied. He was looking at the sign outside the pub. “I think we can risk stopping.”

“My feet thank you,” Arthur muttered. He looked at the sign. “Oh, they do rooms. I would kill for a bed right now.”

Merlin gazed at him for a moment, and Arthur couldn’t help butsee the longing there. He liked Merlin, there was no denying he was completely Arthur’s type. The dark hair, the blue eyes, the long, lean frame. There was nothing not to like. Well, apart from the possibly being insane thing, but that had never stopped him caring about his sister. If they’d met under different circumstances Arthur would have been all over him like a rash.

“I’ll go and see if they’ve got any left,” Merlin told him, and went inside.

It was an old coaching inn in Cotswolds stone, probably listed, the décor inside screaming classic country pub. Arthur sat wearily at the nearest table, glad to take the weight off his feet.

“They’ve only got a double,” Merlin told him, coming back over to him.

“I trust you,” Arthur grinned. And it was true, he was actually starting to do so. There was something about Merlin, something about the way he looked at Arthur sometimes as if he were the most precious thing in the world. It was hard to resist.

“That’s good, because I’ve taken it. You’re Mr Taylor if anyone asks. I’m Mr Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Jones,” Arthur stuck his hand out and after a moment’s hesitation Merlin shook it, laughing. “Don’t suppose you put us down for dinner too?”

“All included. Cash, so Mordred can’t trace us. We’re running low though so make the most of this place, I don’t think we can afford a second night.”

Arthur shrugged. “Right now, all I want is food, a shower and bed in that order. If Mordred turns up before I’ve had that, I’ll kill him myself!”

Merlin gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He sat down at the table with Arthur and picked up the menu.

“It all looks good,” Arthur commented. “I could eat the lot.”

“Mmm, you always were greedy,” Merlin was reading the list.

That still spooked Arthur a little, when Merlin talked as if he knew him. But he tried to ignore it as the waitress came over just then and started taking orders. Friendly and chatty, and assuming they were on a holiday, she soon was telling them all about the best way to get to the stones. It was apparently the most popular reason for any guest to stay there.

“We wanted to walk out in the morning, go and see the stones at sunrise,” Merlin explained to her. “We’ll be quiet.”

“Quite a few of our guests want to do that. There’s a footpath but it’s going to be dark,” the waitress explained. “Don’t want you falling over and breaking a leg or something so you can have one of our torches if you like. Plenty out the back. You’d be surprised how much junk people leave behind.”

Arthur wasn’t surprised. He’d often left rubbish behind in hotel rooms, things he didn’t want any more or couldn’t be bothered to carry. He just ate his dinner and let Merlin carry on talking to the woman. All Arthur wanted right then was food, and there was plenty of that.

When the waitress went off to serve someone else, Merlin regarded Arthur’s already half-empty plate critically.

“I was hungry,” Arthur explained before Merlin said anything. Merlin was always far too quick with the cheek. He’d always been…

“What’s the matter?” Merlin asked.

“Huh?”

“You looked startled. What’s wrong?”

Arthur had just had the oddest sense that he knew Merlin, that he’d always known Merlin. But it was just their situation, just the stories Merlin had been telling him, all playing tricks on him. It couldn’t actually be true.

“Nothing. Just worried about tomorrow, in case it doesn’t work.”

Merlin gave him a small smile, and Arthur was struck by how sweet that was. All the things Merlin claimed to be, and he could sit there smiling at Arthur shyly, as if he were just an ordinary young man out on a first date.

“It’ll work,” Merlin promised.

“And I’ll remember you?”

Merlin’s smile widened. “You always have before.”

Arthur was tempted to ask about the times before, see just how far Merlin would spin the story. Part of him really wanted to believe it, but another part was terrified at the implications. Instead he ducked his head, not wanting to meet Merlin’s hopeful gaze. “Tell me about the future, where you come from. What happened?”

That killed the smile immediately. It was safer like that, Arthur thought. He was too drawn to Merlin and he felt at a disadvantage, not remembering.

“It was a few years after you vanished that it started. Magic users started to come out into the open, show what they could do. There was fear, persecution. They weren’t all using it for the right reasons, you see. And then Nimueh and Morgause came back… they were sorcerers, back when you were king.”

Arthur hoped nobody was listening in at another table. But there was music and chatter in the pub. It was unlikely they were overheard.

“They worked together, recruited a few more including Mordred. Then they just rose up, all of them really fast and we were overrun. Humanity didn’t stand a chance against them. Your men tried, but they were picked off one by one, killed.”

“My men?”

“Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Lancelot. They kept trying to do the right thing, to fight, even though they didn’t know it was you they were fighting for. But we were losing, and they’d worked up a spell to stop us ever coming back. It’s the one Mordred’s going to use on you if he catches you. Every day more and more people died. In the end, I think it might have just been our little group, Gwaine and Leon and me and the people we’d tried to save. And then they found us, overran the base, and that was the end. I had to cast the spell and come here, even though it wasn’t finished. And…” he paused, looking anguished. “I left everything behind. Nothing could come through with me.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Arthur grinned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, I mean everything. All my notes on the spell, I was supposed to take them with me so that they could never be found. It all got left behind. Mordred must have found it and that’s how he followed me. They must have refined it, because he’s come back strong, stronger than me, while I’ve just lost my magic completely. But it’s my fault. Everything’s my fault. You didn’t just vanish, you must have died, and that was because of me.”

Arthur had stopped eating, watching Merlin carefully. The man looked as if he might cry. Arthur placed his hand over Merlin’s. “But you’ve come back to put it right. And anyway, it couldn’t have been you the very first time. Mordred must have worked his own spell the first time. Cause and effect. You only created the spell to come back for me, but you wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t already missing. At some point someone else, Mordred perhaps, must have done it.”

Merlin stared at him as if he were seeing him for the first time. “Arthur, that was…”

“Genius?”

“Clever. More perceptive than I’d expect from you. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?”

“And he’ll just do it again, if you change things now.”

“Oh no,” Merlin told him darkly. “He won’t.” He speared a chip, popped it in his mouth and chewed furiously. “He really won’t.”

 

They didn’t stay long after dinner. Arthur was tired, and Merlin was restless so they went up to their room. It was pleasant enough, not particularly big, with a low beam across the ceiling that they both almost hit their heads on when they entered. The window looked out onto the street, and Merlin immediately took up watch there.

Arthur left him to it, stripping off his filthy clothes and heading straight for the shower. The soap and steam felt wonderful. It had been the previous morning when he’d last washed and changed his clothes, and he’d been very aware of that when he was sitting down in the pub surrounded by people who were considerably cleaner than he was. His clothes were still grubby and there wasn’t a lot he could do about that, but he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back out into their room.

Merlin was still at the window but he turned to look as Arthur emerged. Arthur could feel Merlin’s gaze on him, travelling the length of his body and suddenly the towel didn’t feel enough, Arthur wondered if the inn had any robes. But when he met Merlin’s eyes, his companion momentarily gave him a look of such longing that Arthur moved towards him instinctively, starting to reach out before stopping himself. The moment was gone, Merlin slipped past him, heading for the bathroom.

“Hope you didn’t take all the hot water,” Merlin told him without looking back, then closed the door and a few moments later Arthur could hear the shower.

Merlin didn’t emerge for a long time, the shower going on and on. In the end, Arthur tapped on the door.

“You okay in there, Merlin?”

There was no answer, so Arthur pushed the door open.

Merlin was standing in the shower, forehead resting on his arm as he leaned against the shower wall, his back to Arthur. His other hand was working furiously, bringing himself to completion with a choked-off cry that sounded suspiciously like Arthur’s name.

Arthur stepped back quickly, closing the door as quietly as he could. Merlin had been oblivious to his presence and maybe it was best to leave it like that. But there had been a strong temptation to go in there. Merlin’s body was lean and hard and it had been a while for Arthur. And there was something familiar about it too, triggering a surge of desire for the other man. Arthur paused for a moment, struggling to deal with it. It wasn’t a memory, he was sure of that. But Merlin was starting to seem so very familiar. It wasn’t just the past 24 hours, it was more than that. Walking in there and going over to Merlin, touching him… it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Keeping the towel on, because he had no intention of putting his grimy clothes back on before he had to, Arthur got into bed and waited.

He wasn’t surprised that it took Merlin a while to emerge. When he did his skin was flushed, though Arthur saw to his disappointment that Merlin had pulled on his t-shirt and jeans, and was heading back to the window to keep watch. He didn’t even spare Arthur a glance.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Arthur told him.

“I’m fine,” Merlin replied. He still didn’t look around.

“Mordred won’t find us here. Come on, I’m not going to bite you, it’s a big bed.”

He could see a slow blush starting to make its way across Merlin’s face, even though it was mostly turned away from him.

“I’m fine,” Merlin repeated.

“Okay.” Arthur got up and walked around the bed, sitting down on the edge of it close to Merlin. He saw Merlin glance at him quickly, down at the towel, and then away. “I can’t sleep anyway.”

“Try,” Merlin grunted.

“Tell me some more about the future. What’s it like? What are the men like?”

“Strong. Tough.”

“No, I mean, what are they _like_? All those years, you must’ve found someone else by now.”

“There’s nobody else,” Merlin told him. His voice was almost a whisper.

“But…” Arthur paused, thinking about it. “You said I’ve been gone for over a century.”

“127 years, but who’s counting? I don’t want to talk about this, Arthur.”

“What about Gwaine? You said he was still around…”

“No! And again, something I don’t want to talk about. Gwaine died helping me to get back to you. He’s important to me, but not like that. There’s nobody, I told you. It’s you. All down the years, you were the first and the last and the only and that’s how it’ll always be. It’s only ever been you.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t been so loyal himself, not that he could remember that he was supposed to be. He wondered what it was like for Merlin, waiting for him, knowing that he was always going to start off his lives by shagging other people. Never pure, never only for Merlin. Perhaps he didn’t deserve this devotion. He reached out to touch Merlin’s arm. The man flinched a little, but Arthur didn’t stop. He moved in closer, reaching up to pull Merlin’s face towards him, leaning in to kiss him. Merlin hesitated for a moment, then kissed him back, tentatively at first and then eagerly, almost desperately.

“Hi,” whispered Arthur, breaking away momentarily, smiling against Merlin’s mouth. Merlin’s breath was warm, and he just felt right in Arthur’s arms, familiar. Merlin didn’t say anything, but captured his mouth in another kiss, deeper, biting down on Arthur's bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. That was familiar too. Any doubts Arthur might have had fled away with that feeling.

“Arthur…” Merlin breathed. “You don’t have to…”

_Typical Merlin, never sure, even after all this time…_

Arthur blinked, wondering where that thought had come from. He looked down at Merlin, who lowered his gaze at the scrutiny and started to pull back. Arthur realised he was taking the hesitation as rejection.

“Oh no,” Arthur stopped him. “Don’t think that. Never think that. Come here.”

Merlin didn’t resist when Arthur drew him down onto the bed, pushing him onto his back.

“Those clothes need to come off,” Arthur whispered, one hand sliding under Merlin’s shirt, finding the warm, soft skin there. “They’re filthy. Come on.” He manoeuvred the shirt up and over Merlin’s head, both of them laughing softly when it caught on his ears. “Those ears, always getting in the way…”

Merlin gazed up at him, wide-eyed and hopeful. “But you don’t remember me yet.”

Arthur thought perhaps he did, that perhaps there was some subconscious part of him that was always going to remember Merlin. Being with him felt like the right thing to do, as if they were meant to be. And if what Merlin said was true, then that was exactly what they were.

“There’s something about you, Merlin,” he admitted.

Merlin’s face broke into a huge, delighted grin, as if Arthur had said the most wonderful thing possible, and he pulled him down for another kiss. Arthur felt the towel being untied from around his waist, and lifted his hips so that Merlin could pull the towel away.

“What did I say?” he murmured against Merlin’s mouth, but Merlin just laughed, reaching down to unbutton his own fly before Arthur batted his hand away. “Mine, leave it.”

“Always so bossy,” Merlin purred, wriggling out of his jeans and underpants with Arthur’s help, then lay there beneath him, watching him expectantly.

There was a definite reluctance on Merlin’s part to make the first move, and Arthur wondered where that came from. Perhaps they had rules about it, that Merlin wouldn’t approach him until he remembered. But that would be foolish, a waste of precious time together. Besides, Arthur thought he was starting to remember things now, vaguely. He leaned forward, meaning to kiss Merlin again, then paused, looking down at him. There were marks on Merlin’s pale skin, old scars long since healed along with newer cuts and bruises. Probably from the car crash, Arthur realised. He’d not been badly hurt himself, but he hadn’t thought of Merlin. The man had walked away from the crash site (or, more accurately, been dragged away by the police) and Arthur hadn’t even considered that he might have been hurt. He traced one with his finger, gently, not wanting to cause any further pain.

“Was this because of me?”

“They’re all because of you,” Merlin told him. “Everything I am is because of you.” He took hold of Arthur’s hand and lifted it away. “I heal quickly.”

“Does it hurt?”

Merlin shrugged. “Everything hurts at some point. But no, those are nothing.”

The cuts and bruises might not be anything to Merlin, but Arthur wondered about wounds so bad that they still left scars even with Merlin’s ability to heal. What kind of injury had caused those? They were old scars, they’d been with him a long time.

“They don’t look like nothing.”

“Don’t think about it,” Merlin urged. “You always worry about me, but there’s no need. Don’t. Please.”

The plea was low and heartfelt. Arthur could feel the underlying tension there. Perhaps it was an old argument, when there was danger Merlin might throw himself in front of it rather than let any harm come to Arthur. Arthur couldn’t imagine himself ever accepting that easily.

“Please,” Merlin repeated, reaching up to run his hand through Arthur’s hair, the longing in his eyes blatant again. “Don’t stop. I’ve missed you so…”

Arthur could feel Merlin’s erection pressing hard and urgent against him. He reached down between them, taking Merlin in hand and stroking his length, a caress at first and then firmer, harder, using his other hand to reach round and rub his fingers down Merlin’s crack. Merlin groaned, and bucked against him as Arthur began to massage his perineum.

“Arthur, please…” Merlin sounded totally wrecked.

Arthur grinned down at him, exploring further, loving the little sounds of pleasure Merlin was making. He held Merlin’s gaze as he worked him, watching his face as he lay there, contorted with pleasure. Merlin tried to reach for Arthur, but he was too far gone himself to do much, and a few moments later he was coming over Arthur’s hand and his own chest and stomach, Arthur’s name on his lips.

Arthur jerked himself off with a practised ease, his hand slick with Merlin’s come, but it was the touch of Merlin’s fingers as he wrapped his hand around Arthur’s that brought him off. He collapsed onto the bed beside Merlin, breathing heavily.

There was a box of tissues beside the bed. When he’d recovered, Arthur grabbed a handful and used them to clean up, then rolled onto his side and held Merlin close.

“I should keep watch,” Merlin told him, but made no attempt to move. Arthur seemed to be the only thing he was interested in watching. Arthur closed his eyes, tired. He felt safer than he had done for the past couple of days. It was probably just the sex, lulling him into a false sense of calm, but it felt good. Beside him, he felt Merlin shift slightly, perhaps making himself more comfortable. He could feel himself drifting off to sleep.

“I love you,” Merlin whispered.

But Arthur knew that. Perhaps he’d known from the start.

 

 

 

It was cold and dark out on the moors and Mordred had admitted defeat for the night.

It was looking increasingly unlikely that Dartmoor was the right place. They’d driven to every circle on the moor and found nothing. The choice was to go further, head for Cornwall, admit defeat and just wait for Merlin to try to use his magic again, or to search elsewhere, go further up the country.

If Merlin had headed north there was little chance of catching him before he managed to restore his power. He would be waiting until dawn, the time when he would have the best shot at it.

Morgana had found a bed and breakfast and booked them in. A twin room, because he’d refused to let her out of his sight. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d died here too, in this time. Merlin could be lying in wait somewhere, biding his time, waiting to strike. He was cunning like that.

She was curled up on her bed still fully clothed, turned away from him. She was afraid, of course. Merlin was out there somewhere, and she had that memory of him killing her before. He wanted to go over, hold her, tell her it would be all right. But she was keeping her distance and he had to respect that. She was the one who had suffered the most.

In the morning they would move on, try other sites. Merlin couldn’t hide forever.   But Morgana needed to rest.

Mordred sat on his own bed, leaning against the wall, waiting. He didn’t try to sleep. He didn’t need to, not with that much magic coursing through him.

Soon, it would be over. Soon.

 

Arthur was on horseback.

He was riding through a forest, sunlight trickling through the trees and dappling over the dark head of the man riding ahead of him. He could feel the comforting weight of the reins in his hands, and the sound of his men talking behind.

“Arthur…”

He turned, and there was Merlin riding beside him, smiling at him.

“Arthur!”

He opened his eyes. Merlin was standing beside the bed, already dressed, shaking him awake.

“Come on, it’s time to go.”

Arthur rubbed at his eyes. He’d had strange dreams and it felt as if he’d hardly slept at all, and a glance at the clock told him it was 3:30 in the morning. Reluctantly he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, splashing water onto his face in an attempt to feel more awake.

“Hurry up!” Merlin called to him.

“Can’t you just go on without me? I’ll sleep here and you come back when you’re all… you know, magical again.”

Merlin ignored that. Arthur picked up his clothes, grimacing at the smell of sweat. They were going to start stinking like a pair of tramps soon. He wanted to go home, change into something that didn’t stink, and sleep for a week. Preferably with Merlin.

He was momentarily stunned by a memory of Merlin lying back on a bed Arthur had never seen before. It had dark red sheets and Merlin’s skin looked paler than ever against them. He was smiling up at Arthur, relaxed and happy. Not like the Merlin he knew at all.

“Come on!” Merlin called, and Arthur tried to shake the memory away. It wasn’t his. It couldn’t be his. He walked back out to the bedroom, confused. It must have shown on his face, because Merlin noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I keep thinking… I know this sounds stupid but I was having dreams… I keep thinking of you in places I could never have seen you. It must just be because we were talking about it. But it’s weird.”

“Ah,” Merlin took his hand, pulling him close. “You’re starting to remember.” He leaned in, smiling, and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Love. Welcome back.”

That stirred a memory too. Arthur pulled back, confused by it.

Merlin just nodded, as if understanding completely. “It takes a while, but it’ll all make sense to you soon, I promise. Now let’s go.”

They crept out of their room and down the stairs. It was deserted, and Arthur thought a little creepy in the old building, barely lit. The sight of the old stone walls were familiar as well, some unbidden memory of his father dressed in… well, it had to be fancy dress, but he couldn’t remember his father ever doing something so frivolous. He was dressed as a king, the heavy stone wall behind him looking so much like the one in the inn.

It was starting to frighten Arthur a little. What if he was losing his mind? Perhaps Merlin had slipped him something and now he was hallucinating. It would explain a lot.

“Damn!” Merlin patted his pockets, looking around. “I left the torch upstairs. Wait here.”

He hurried back towards the stairs. Arthur stayed where he was, looking around.

There was a payphone near the door. Arthur didn’t see those very often now but he supposed they were far enough out in the sticks that it made sense. Merlin had stopped him using mobiles because Mordred could pick up on it, but an old payphone like that probably didn’t even count as technology. He just wanted to hear a familiar voice again, let them know he was okay. Even if Mordred really had wiped every trace of them from the police records like Merlin said he had, Arthur’s family and friends were still going to be concerned.

Unless they just thought he’d gone on his holiday early. But no, Morgana had warned him to trust Merlin. Morgana knew something about what was happening. He could call her, just for a moment. Although she’d told him to stay away, to trust Merlin. And he did, he really did. But he needed something familiar.

He glanced towards the stairs. It would only take a moment. He dialled his home number, memorised from childhood. He didn’t know any mobiles, but he remembered the one for the house.

He held the receiver to his ear, listening to it ring. There was no answer. Given the time that was hardly surprising, but still he was disappointed. Just the familiar reassurance of one of their voices would have done. The call went to answerphone, and his father’s clipped, brusque voice told him to leave a message after the tone.

“It’s Arthur. Just wanted to say I’m okay. I’ll try and call again. The guy who killed Lance and Gwen, he’s after me. Don’t let any strangers in, just be careful. Just…”

“What are you doing?” Merlin’s hand slammed down on the phone, cutting the call off. “What did I say about phones?”

“Mobiles.”

“Any phone! Arthur! That was so stupid. Now we have to move, and just hope Mordred’s far enough away that we get to the stones first.”

“I wanted to speak to my father and sister. I need to know if they’re okay. I need to know if my friends are okay too. It was only for a moment.”

Merlin sighed, and opened the door. The chill from outside hit them, Summer not quite there yet. “It’s done now. Come on, we need to hurry. Forget walking, he knows where we are now. We’re taking a car.”

Still feeling conflicted and confused, Arthur followed.

 

Mordred hadn’t even tried to sleep. He’d sat on his bed, watching whilst Morgana slept. She still had the dreams, the visions, he noticed, seeing her tossing and turning. That didn’t change.

And then the call came.

“Arthur.”

It was short, but enough for Mordred. He got up, half-tempted to leave Morgana because she just didn’t seem to be completely on board with what he was doing. But he shook her awake, seeing the bewilderment at not knowing where she was for a moment, then seeing her focus on his face.

“I’ve found them,” he told her. “You were wrong about the moors.”

“Oh.” She didn’t look as sorry as he would have expected.

“They’re hours away, we need to go.”

“Yes,” she agreed, getting up. “I suppose it’s time.”

She was probably apprehensive, he realised, remembering her own death. He wouldn’t let Merlin do that to her this time, not with the power Nimueh had given him. This time he’d wipe both Merlin and Arthur from the earth. This time everything would be right.

 

The first light of dawn was just faintly visible on the horizon as they stopped in a lay-by near the stones. There was no sign of Mordred or Morgana, a small mercy Merlin was grateful for.

It had been many years since he had visited this spot. When Arthur had vanished he had come here, trying to find him, trying to draw him back, but it had all been in vain. Before that he hadn’t visited the stones in centuries.

Things changed. Dirt tracks turned into tarmacked roads. Trees sprang up, then were cut down or died. Fields were cleared, ploughed, used for crops. The stones remained.

The stones weren’t untouched, of course. Some were taken for walls, pushed over, fallen over, worn away by the weather. Half of them had been restored in the 1800s and some were forever missing. The huge King’s Stone was particularly mis-shapen from times when locals had taken small pieces of it for luck. Not so lucky for the stone. It was an odd, twisted shape now as a result, rising up from the field, darkly silhouetted against the growing light. There was a fence surrounding it, though that wouldn’t keep anyone out for long.

“That thing looks weird,” Arthur commented, gazing across the road at it. It was in a field on the opposite side of the road from the main circle. “No wonder this isn’t famous. Stonehenge looks better.”

Arthur had been quiet for most of the drive. Merlin knew he was starting to remember his past lives, and there wasn’t a great deal Merlin could do to help him until the process was complete. Arthur, naturally, always found it unnerving and confusing, as anyone would.

“That’s because it was worked on in the early 1900s to make sure it looked good. This,” Merlin waved a hand towards the obelisk. “This is all natural. Well, mostly.”

Arthur eyed it warily but made no further comment as they walked away from it. Merlin thought of the last time he was there, and what he’d done, the magic he’d cast. He glanced at Arthur, seeing the interest in his face. He wanted to go over there.

“That’s the King’s Stone,” Merlin told him. “Remember what I said. If all else fails, that’s where you need to go.”

“It’s a stone, Merlin,” Arthur pointed out. “What am I supposed to do? Push it over and hope Mordred falls underneath it? Hide behind it? It’s not even going to hide me properly, is it? Look at it!” He pointed at the misshapen thing, as if Merlin could miss it.

“Trust me on this.”

Arthur snorted disbelievingly. “Yeah, well if I have to trust you that you’re a couple of millennia old, and that I’m King Arthur, and that you have magic that isn’t working yet, and that you’ve come back from the future then I suppose I can trust you on that. Even though you lied to me for all those years about the magic.”

“What?” Merlin paused. Arthur was confused and confusing when he was half remembering.

“The magic. You told me you lied, way back when.”

“No, I never said that,” Merlin told him carefully. “That’s you remembering, Arthur.”

“But you did lie back then.”

“Yes. You’d lie too if you were going to end up being burned at the stake if you told the truth. Your father wasn’t an understanding or forgiving man, Arthur. Come on, we need to hurry, it’s nearly sunrise.”

“I’m remembering other things.”

“And we’ll talk about them soon. The circle’s just over the road there.”

They climbed over the little gate that led to the stone circle. It was locked and there was some notice about the stones only being open during daylight hours. He hoped some caretaker didn’t turn up right in the middle of his attempt to get his magic back. The area was deserted so early, bathed in the grey, misty light that came before the sunrise. And there were the stones, smaller than he remembered, but that was just the tricks of memory.

Like all such monuments, many of the stones had been removed, and needed restoring once they’d regained their popularity. Merlin could remember what it was like before, when the stones were in their original placements. This one wasn’t too badly tainted by the modern world, but the earth magic was never going to be quite as strong as it had been over a thousand years ago.

This was a more or less complete circle, and he could feel the earth magic there quietly beneath the ground, waiting for him. It would work, he’d get his magic back, keep Arthur alive, try to defeat Mordred. Mordred was using borrowed magic, it couldn’t last forever.

“Is this it?” Arthur asked, looking round at the stones. Merlin could tell he wasn’t impressed. They weren’t huge like the giants of Avebury. But that meant they hadn’t been interfered with quite as much. “They’re not very big.”

“Size isn’t everything,” Merlin told him.

Arthur grinned, knocking against his arm playfully. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

His Arthur was coming back. Merlin didn’t want to think about failure. He needed to do this and get it right. Mordred would be on his way by now, alerted by the phone call. They weren’t going to have that much time.

“Just remember what you need to do if Mordred turns up.”

“Hide behind the mutant stone, yeah, I know.” Arthur sat down on one of the stones. It probably wasn’t allowed but there was nobody to see. And it would probably help, having him there while Merlin cast the spell. Arthur didn’t know it, but over the years he had become almost as much a thing of magic as Merlin himself was.

“Don’t forget it. Now shush, I have to concentrate.” Merlin sat down in the middle of the circle, cross-legged.

“Aren’t you supposed to do that naked?” called Arthur, who had obviously watched far too many bad movies.

“No. Quiet,” Merlin told him, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Maybe later you can get naked too.”

“Ritual to seal the magic?”

“If you like.” Really, if they got through this, Arthur could have anything he liked for the rest of his life. But Merlin knew better than to tell him that. He’d be unbearable.

The grass was wet with dew and was soaking through his jeans almost as soon as he sat down, cold and uncomfortable. He looked up at Arthur one last time, then closed his eyes and began the spell.

 

 

Just as with Avebury, Merlin sat meditating or whatever it was he was doing for a long time. The sun was rising over the treetops, half-hidden by cloud, and still he sat there.

Arthur heard the caretaker unlocking the gate a little after sunrise. Luckily the man just glanced in, saw Merlin apparently meditating, rolled his eyes, took the money Arthur had thought to offer, and walked off. A few minutes later Arthur heard him drive away, and then he was alone with Merlin again.

Cars started to go past more regularly on the road, hidden from view by a small copse of trees. Still, Merlin sat there. Arthur wondered if whatever he was trying to do was working, but he didn’t want to disturb him to find out. Arthur, after all, had other things to think about.

Most of them involved Merlin.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Merlin was telling him the truth. Arthur could remember things. Nothing that made any sense except when thought of as being the nineteen lifetimes that Merlin claimed Arthur had already lived. There were little bits and pieces of each one. He could remember fighting in a war, more than once. Different weapons in his hands, antique guns that he was handling like a pro. He could remember sitting in chains in a cell, standing on the bow of a ship with Leon and looking out towards a land nobody had seen before, standing in the House of Commons arguing for political reform, sitting on a hillside with Merlin as an old, old man… It was overwhelming, too much to take in at once.  

Merlin still sat there in the grass. Arthur couldn’t see any change, there was still no way to tell. He shivered a little in the cold morning air, glancing up at the ominous clouds overhead. It was starting to look like rain.

Merlin had always had magic. There was a time when Arthur hadn’t known, but that was so long ago it no longer mattered. Arthur had relied on it, depended on Merlin’s strength and it had rarely let them down. But there was something strange. Arthur’s memories of his current life were fractured, just over the past day or two. It was as if he’d done two completely different things. He recalled every moment with Merlin, but he also remembered something else.

What he remembered didn’t make sense. He could recall the football match going on late on Thursday night and degenerating into a pub crawl. He’d not gone home that night, crashed at Gwaine’s instead. And then they’d carried on the next day, making a real celebration of it. One by one they’d left him and he’d picked up some random bloke and left with him.

It had been Mordred, and Morgana had been right there at his side. Morgana… he could remember it now, his death in this lifetime. Already Merlin had kept him alive a day longer than that. He was on borrowed time.

There was a screech of brakes on the road behind him as a vehicle stopped too quickly. Then there was the sound of slamming doors, footsteps running along the road.

“Merlin!” he hissed, standing up, knowing who it would be out there.

His lover’s eyes opened, the blue replaced by a glowing gold. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing that. That hadn’t happened before. The spell must have worked, this time.

“He’s here,” Merlin breathed, scrambling to his feet.

Arthur was at his side, staying close. He could remember what Mordred had done to him before. That sword, slicing at him, and then as he lay bleeding out on the ground the man’s eyes had shone gold, and he’d been speaking, chanting something. And then nothing. “I remember it, Merlin. What he did.”

“I won’t let him touch you this time,” Merlin promised.

“It worked, then? You’ve got your magic back?”

“I think so. I could’ve done with a bit longer though. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

That wasn’t the overwhelming reassurance Arthur was hoping for. There were two figures coming down the path from the road, half-hidden by the trees at first. But then Mordred walked out into the clearing, closely followed by Morgana, and there was no further doubt.

Merlin didn’t hesitate. He raised his arms and threw his magic straight at Mordred. The man staggered for a moment, then recovered far too quickly. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Nobody was able to stand up to Merlin’s magic. He’d always been invincible, Arthur’s greatest knight.

“Nice try,” Mordred told them. “Is that the best you can do?”

Arthur could see Morgana standing behind Mordred, her face pale and drawn. She looked the way she did when she’d been having her dreams, her visions. But they weren’t dreams, he knew that now. Half of it, from what she’d said when they were younger and what he could remember now, half of it was memories.

Morgana, he realised, had always remembered. And like him, she would be able to recall her own death now. All this time, perhaps, she had known that their lives would come down to this moment, or to that other moment, the one Merlin had changed. He stared at her, seeing the sister he’d loved and the witch who’d been the orchestrator of his death all those centuries ago. But there was no time to think of Morgana.

Mordred attacked.

It was magic, just as Merlin had used. But this wasn’t any level of magic Arthur had seen before. It was too strong, too powerful. Perhaps at full strength Merlin could have fought it, but he went down under the force of it, sprawling in the grass. Mordred circled him, moving round again for another attack as Merlin struggled to his feet. Arthur had no weapons, and had never felt so helpless.

“Merlin…”

“Go!” Merlin yelled at him. “Run!”

It wasn’t in Arthur’s nature to run from anything, especially when someone he cared for was being hurt.

“Yes, run,” Mordred told him, far too calmly. “Run as far as you like. Without Merlin you won’t last long. He was always the prize, you know? Not you. Never you. You were just a means to an end. His end.”

“Go!” Merlin shouted again.

Arthur ran. He could still see his sister standing there behind Mordred, just watching. She didn’t make any move to follow, but he couldn’t worry about that. There was one thing Merlin had told him to do, and he just had to trust it was the right thing.

He ran back down the path, vaulted the gate and raced across the road, barely missing a passing car. Ignoring the blaring horn behind him, he pushed through the gate on the other side of the road and ran across the field towards the King’s Stone. He could hear raised voices behind him, hear Morgana shouting.

The stone looked different now, in daylight. Less ominous, but there was something else. It seemed to be glowing faintly, pulsing almost as he approached. He could feel it drawing him towards it. It felt safe, a sanctuary. But there were what looked like spiked iron railings all around the ancient monument and Arthur couldn’t see how he was going to get close to it. There was a gate that was heavily padlocked, but as Arthur ran up to it the padlock fell away and the gate swung open.

That had to be Merlin’s doing. It meant Merlin had to still be alive. Whatever Mordred was doing, he hadn’t finished Merlin yet. The stone though, it was humming, glowing brighter now that he was so close. Merlin had done something here, long ago. It reminded Arthur of an earlier time, a time when he was about to become king, another stone, older magic.

“Yes,” he heard from somewhere around him. It sounded as if it had come from the stone itself. “Remember.”

Arthur reached out to touch it. The stone suddenly split, right down the middle in a blaze of golden light. And there, at its heart, gleaming and immaculate, was Excalibur.

 

Morgana had seen.

All her life she had seen visions of this moment. She hadn’t known what it was at first, thinking it to be another of the dreams that haunted her nights, a memory of a past life she no longer wanted any part of. Only in the past few days had she realised the truth of it, remembered her own ending and why it had happened.

It would happen again.

She had no liking for Merlin. He had tried to kill her himself far too many times. And it was Merlin’s magic that had caused all this, dragging them all back together time after time. It was fine for Merlin, he got Arthur, and the pair of them had all their friends surrounding them. It wasn’t so great for Morgana, because every time… every _single_ time they’d push her away as soon as they remembered their past lives. It wasn’t good for Uther either, he was forced to lose his wife over and over again.

Morgana was done with it.

She had cast her own spell, made herself remember earlier so that the shock and the pain wouldn’t be so great. That way she wouldn’t damned well end up married to one of them and suffer all the hurt of that rejection too. And it had helped. Not just her, but Uther too. He’d changed. Not towards Arthur, because Arthur and Uther were always going to have the sort of father-son relationship that left Arthur striving towards becoming the ideal son he thought Uther wanted, and Uther disappointed because Arthur just didn’t understand that wasn’t what he wanted at all. Sitting down and talking would have helped them, but they would probably never manage to do that.

But Morgana had managed it in recent years, and it had changed everything between them. Uther had cared for her this time, tried to get help for her when they’d thought she had some sort of mental affliction. There had never been any question of sending her away, and whilst Uther was never going to be an overly affectionate man, this time he’d cared for her. He’d been at home that last day because of concern for her and for Arthur. His last words had been an attempt to warn her of the danger rather than to attempt to save himself.

And Mordred had come in and gutted him like a pig.

Mordred hadn’t changed. He hadn’t grown, or learned anything. The future he described wasn’t something she wanted to be a part of. Destroying people for being different, for not having magic… no, that was no better than King Uther’s policies all those centuries ago. They needed to learn to live together. And perhaps Merlin and Arthur, the warlock and the man who loved him, perhaps they would be the ones to bring that about. There was more chance of that happening than of Mordred changing his mind. He was standing over Merlin, beating him down with the strong magic he’d brought with him. It was borrowed, but it showed no sign of waning. Merlin, on the other hand, was unable to do much other than try to shield himself. Probably keeping Mordred distracted to give Arthur a chance to run, she realised.

“Mordred,” she called softly.

He looked back, grinning at her. And that was cruel, she realised, smiling whilst he hurt someone, no matter what they’d done. She started to move past him, heading for Merlin.

“You want a go?”

Merlin was breathing hard, just defending himself was taking the magic he’d worked so hard to obtain. He looked up at her as she walked towards him, and she could see in his eyes exactly what he still thought of her. For a moment she wondered if she was making the right decision, because Merlin was always going to be obsessed with Arthur and never going to fully trust her.

“No. And I think you should stop.”

“What?” Mordred paused, confused, obviously thinking he’d misheard.

“I think you should stop. Your future, the one you’ve come from, it’s nothing to aspire to. What you’re doing to people without magic is just as bad as what was done to sorcerers back in the time of Camelot. Can’t you see that?”

“Morgana, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying no.” She reached Merlin’s side and stood there. “I’m saying stop.”

Mordred stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. “I came back for you,” he told her, puzzled.

“No. You came back for Merlin, you were chasing Merlin. He’s what you want. And honestly, I don’t care what you do to him but leave me and my family alone.”

“Uther and Arthur aren’t your family.”

“Yes they are.”

“But Merlin… he killed you. You said you remembered.”

She nodded, sparing a glance down at Merlin who was looking up at her in confusion. “I said I remembered the death. But it was you who killed me, Mordred. Not Merlin. Merlin wasn’t even there. You killed me and then you killed Arthur, and then you wiped us both out of existence, never letting us live again. That’s what I remember.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“I was trying to protect my brother, because you,” she looked down at Merlin. “Were nowhere to be found.”

Mordred was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. Then he reached for his sword.

“Traitor,” he breathed. “You’ve been blocking me all along.   You must have known Merlin would come here.”

Merlin took his opportunity whilst Mordred was distracted. He scrambled to his feet and she actually felt it as he summoned his magic and threw it at Mordred with all his might. It worked slightly better, knocking him sideways, but Mordred blasted him with his magic and Merlin gave a yell of pain. As Merlin collapsed, Mordred raised his sword for what Morgana knew would be a fatal blow.

She reached for her own magic, rusty with lack of use, and attempted an attack, briefly stopping him.

“You!”

Mordred’s attention was instantly distracted from Merlin as he turned on her in a fury, striking back immediately. She couldn’t help crying out as he hit, feeling the dark magic seep into her. It was like burning.

“Morgana!”

Merlin had reached up to her, grasped her arm and that stopped most of the pain. Not enough though, Mordred lashed out at them both and she found herself cowering in the grass, huddled against Merlin who was now trying to protect them both.

“Attack with me,” Merlin whispered. “Now.”

It was a futile attempt. Together they could hold him off for a short while, but Morgana could feel the strain immediately, and she knew Merlin wouldn’t be able to keep up for long either. She could feel his defences weakening and more and more of Mordred’s borrowed magic reaching for them, trying to destroy them.

Mordred was livid, she could see the anger in his face, the hate in his eyes as he went for them again and again. It hurt, and she knew the only blessing was that it wasn’t going to hurt for very long.

Merlin was dripping with perspiration from the effort, but he was flagging. She felt him slip once, twice, and then Mordred was standing over them, sword raised.

“You could have stood at my side in the new world,” he told her.

“I’d rather die,” she spat back.

“That can be arranged.” He swung the sword round in an arc, aiming for her head.

And then suddenly he stopped, a look of surprise on his face. He half-twisted to look at something behind him, just for a moment, before he toppled to the ground.

Arthur stood over him, a bloodied sword in his hands.

“We have to finish this!” Merlin gasped. “He’ll come back, and try again. I have to stop him.” He looked up at Arthur, then round at Morgana. “He would have done this to all of us. He did do it to both of you.”

Arthur glanced at Morgana, who gave a quick nod. It was a terrible thing to do but they would never be safe while Mordred was alive.

“Do it.”

Merlin knelt in the grass, leaning over Mordred’s body. She saw his eyes flash gold as he spoke the incantation that would stop Mordred ever returning. It seemed such a small spell to do such a terrible thing. And then, with a swipe of his hand, Merlin disposed of the body as if it had never been there.

She looked up at Arthur. He wasn’t looking at her with the betrayal and disappointment that normally accompanied him getting his memories back though. That was definitely a step forward.

“You okay?” he mouthed to her, and she acknowledged it with a small incline of her head. Little steps.

Merlin, his work done, got to his feet. As an afterthought he helped Morgana up.

“Thank you for this,” he said.

“It doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything,” she told him. “Just because you’ve been wrong about me. I still don’t like you.”

He shrugged. “Ditto. But maybe a bit more than I did.” He gave her a small smile, then turned to Arthur with the huge, loving smile her brother had always been able to conjure from him, and drew Arthur into a hug.

Morgana looked away, still not sure where she stood with Arthur. He probably didn’t know that she’d tried and failed to protect him in the other timeline of this lifetime. Only Merlin knew that. She wondered if he would tell Arthur, or just drive him away from her again. But Arthur had pulled away from Merlin a little, and was holding out a hand to her.

“I know what you did, last time,” he told her. “Thank you.”

She took his hand, and let herself be pulled into the embrace. Merlin was going to have to learn to share, just a little bit.

 

 

A couple of weeks passed, and Merlin hadn’t found a way back to his own time.

He wasn’t entirely surprised. It was, he knew, quite possible that he would have to stay in the current timeline with Arthur permanently. That wasn’t such a bad thing, except he knew he was going to have to share. Eventually the Merlin who was actually supposed to live in this time was going to find a way to free himself, if Merlin didn’t do it for him. Merlin had been putting it off, partly out of jealousy and partly because he knew his other self was quite likely to attack when he saw what he supposed was an imposter with Arthur. Eventually, Merlin knew, he needed to set his other self free.

Arthur, of course, wanted to be there for it. He’d pointed out that as the Merlin who had saved him might vanish as soon as the present day one re-appeared, he wanted to be with him as long as possible. That suited Merlin, who had been deprived of Arthur’s company for far too long. The past few weeks had been hard for Arthur, with three funerals to deal with, and Arthur had needed Merlin to be there. The fact that he might be about to lose him was an additional stress that he didn’t need.

Arthur had Morgana though. She was cautiously being accepted by the remaining members of the group. It would take a long, long time before the issues from the past were forgiven, on both sides. But they were making a start at least. She regarded Merlin warily, and he looked on her the same way in return. He was sure that he would never entirely trust her, no matter what she did. But Arthur trusted her. Whatever it was that the pair of them remembered from the earlier timeline, it was enough to convince Arthur to end the centuries-old feud.

Merlin wasn’t quite sure what to do about the time travel spell. In the end he gave it to Arthur, just in case he vanished as soon as his other self appeared. Arthur and the other Merlin could deal with whether they used it or not. Just as long as it never found its way into the wrong hands.

Eventually, Merlin could put off the inevitable no longer. Arthur had moved in with Merlin, not ready to go back to the family home just yet. It stood empty, Morgana preferring to rent a flat on her own. They’d probably sell up rather than live with the spectre of what had happened there, but there were no decisions on that just yet. It was too soon after Uther’s death.

One night, a few days after Arthur had moved in, Merlin knew he couldn’t wait any longer. _Tomorrow,_ he thought. _I’ll do it tomorrow._ But there was Arthur beside him, sleeping peacefully, one arm stretched out towards Merlin. Merlin couldn’t bear the thought of giving him up, sharing him. Possibly even leaving him. Not after all they’d gone through. Perhaps he’d wait one more day, and then do it. It was selfish, but that other version of him would have Arthur forever thanks to what Merlin had done. He’d never know the loss, the pain of knowing that if he’d been more alert he might have been able to save Arthur. But still, it had been horrible being shut away like that, knowing Arthur was helpless and in danger. Merlin could still remember how that had felt.

He shifted miserably, feeling guilty despite his assurances to himself that he’d do it soon.

“Go to sleep,” Arthur murmured from beside him, snuggling closer. “Your thinking is keeping me awake.”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give that up. But he knew he had to, or there would be no future for him.

And so, two mornings later he found himself sitting in the kitchen of his own house with Arthur, ready to make an attempt at freeing his younger self.

The spell to free him from his prison was simple enough once he’d worked out what had been done. He could feel the prison right there, feel his other self existing just out of reach on another dimension. A few words, and then suddenly there was a very confused warlock who looked exactly like Merlin, standing in his kitchen. He froze for a moment, startled by his sudden freedom, and then immediately rushed into Arthur’s arms.

“Hi,” Merlin said, trying to control the jealous urge to drag him off. “I suppose you’d like to know what’s going on?”

The newly released Merlin pulled back a little then stared at Arthur, unable to tear his gaze away. “You’re okay? You’re definitely okay?”

Arthur would be his first concern, of course. All his long, long life, it would always be Arthur.

“Yes,” Arthur smiled. “Better by the moment.”

The younger Merlin turned to look at his older self, suspicion clear in his eyes. He was moving in front of Arthur protectively. “And who are you?”

“You’d better sit down,” Merlin advised. “There’s a lot to tell you.”

 

 

“So there’s two of us?”

Merlin shrugged. He’d been explaining what had happened for a good hour by then and hoped he’d reached the end. “I guess so, for a while. I need to reverse the spell, refine it a bit. I don’t want to go back there with no magic.” He looked at Arthur, not really wanting to go back at all. What if Arthur wasn’t there? “If we’re still in the middle of a war, I’ll need my magic as soon as I get back. So you’re stuck with me for a while.”

Arthur looked at him, looked at both of him, and gave a grin so full of mischief that it would have given Gwaine a run for his money. “I can think of some _real_ advantages to that!”

“Prat.” Both Merlins spoke together, then exchanged a wry smile.

“He’s always a prat though.”

“You remember that time in Paris in the 1850s when he tried to convince the French queen he was a great English poet.”

“Starving poet.”

“Emaciated from trying to live off his art.”

“Except he’d forgotten he’d never convince anyone he was emaciated!”

“Oi!”

“And the fact he had no talent as a poet whatsoever.”

“My ears still bleed from it.”

“Right here,” Arthur warned.

“Hah!” Oh, they could have some fun with this. And Arthur was right, there would also be some distinct advantages, though probably more for Arthur than them. “And what about that time…” Merlin put his arm around the shoulders of his younger self, turning him away from Arthur.

He was repelled from his other self as soon as they touched, thrown to the ground.

“Merlin!”

Merlin looked up, briefly able to look up at both Arthur and his younger self’s concerned faces. Arthur was reaching for him, horrified by whatever he was seeing. And then they were gone. Merlin felt himself being swept away, and there was that same horrible, painful twisting sensation as he was pulled through time. It felt like being torn apart, pummelled and beaten.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

 

## Spring, 2142

 

Merlin lay where he had fallen. Everything hurt, aching and tender, and wherever he’d arrived at was far too brightly lit. And he was naked again, just as he had been during his trip into the past. For a moment he just stayed there, keeping his eyes shut tight against the light, breathing hard, still in shock. Somehow it was even worse the second time. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t cast a spell this time, just been pulled back.

A shadow fell across him, making the brightness a little less unbearable. He risked opening his eyes.

“Well that didn’t take long!”

Merlin squinted up at the figure silhouetted against the sky. It was Arthur, older than the one he’d just left, a little more battered, battle-scarred. But whole and alive and right there.

His Arthur, from his own time. Alive.

“Arthur… Gods, it worked, you’re here!”

That was all he managed to say before Arthur dragged him to his feet and held him close.

“Was he there?” Arthur asked. “Mordred? Was it like you thought?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know, Arthur. What did I think? When I left this time you were lost.”

Arthur gave a little gasp, and hugged him tighter. “Finally!” Arthur murmured into his neck. “Finally it’s you again. My Merlin, the one who came back and saved me.”

There were memories starting to surface, faint ones of years with Arthur that he knew he hadn’t actually experienced. They would belong to that other version of him, the one in this timeline. He wondered if they had experienced all his past memories as well. It was confusing, and would take some getting used to. But at least from now on it was balanced out, just him moving forward. And Arthur was here, alive, with him.

“We’re all your Merlin,” he pointed out.

“But you… you’re the one who went through it all. This time around he… you… just went back. We didn’t even know if he’d need to fight Mordred again. Then I waited for you to get back. That’s the worst, you know, the waiting, not knowing what had happened to you.”

Merlin knew a thing or two about waiting. However long Arthur had waited, and his earlier comment suggested it wasn’t long, was nothing compared to Merlin’s wait. But Arthur was warm and solid, and Merlin clung to him gratefully. He was, he realised, getting cold. “Could’ve brought me clothes. Seeing as you were waiting for me.”

Arthur pulled back and looked him up and down. “Nah, I prefer you like this!”

“Figures.”

“Yeah.” Arthur glanced up at the grey, foreboding skies overhead. It wasn’t that bright after all, now that Merlin’s eyes were starting to adjust. “Come on, we should get inside. There’s a storm coming.”

Arthur was alive, and right there in Merlin’s time, ready to continue their life together. Their many, many lives together. Merlin would make sure he never risked losing him again.

“No.” Merlin said simply. “I think it’s passed.”

 

 


End file.
